What We Gain, What We Lose
by Madea's Rage
Summary: Draco finds himself tied to Hermione as his veela blood asserts itself, and they deal with what they've gained and what they've lost.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:I always refused to put a dead line on when a new chapter would be published, and then did it...promptly missed the deadline. **

**I love veela stories, but there aren't enough out there that deal with the darker aspect of the thing-the potential for disaster that might loom if two totally unsuitable people somehow wind up together. Also, like vampirism, I'd like to see some exploration of the bio-chemical reasons a person might react as a veela.**

**I have taken some liberties with human biology and apologise profusely. My dear Countess Black is lovely as alway.**

**The Malfoys are still very much here, so expect them to pipe up sooner or later. This piece probably won't have as much CP in it, if any. Title is a reference to Thoreau.**

**Hurrah for beginnings!**

**Madea, feeling slightly giddy.**

"_Decyded in Privy Councell of ye Wizongamott this daye, that a mann or womyn, havynng vela bloode, and fonde a personne, either wizorde or wyche, and havynng made claime of themm, and lyde in bedd togeder in thare small cloes, and presynce of a wittnesse, they shalle be counted as be trotthed, whetther the oder woude or no_e."

March 5, 1538

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April 30, 1998

Draco was currently giving exactly as much thought to veelas as a cat does to dancing the schottische, which is to say, none whatsoever. He was giving rather more thought to betrothal, and was currently engaged, so to speak, in trying to convince Parkinson to let him touch her thigh through her skirts.

"Pansy, I'm desperate. I simply must touch you." He pouted playfully and Pansy swatted his hand, not as hard as she might. "Not until we're married, Draco." He huffed and she, laughing, gently pecked his cheek.

"I can't wait for July." Draco nodded and gently laced his fingers through hers for a moment. "Mother's ecstatic, you know. Always wanted a daughter, that sort of thing." Pansy giggled with pleasure and they sat like that, in a quiet corner of the Common Room, until Amycus burst in, panting as though he'd just run a marathon. "Draco, go now!"

"But my Mark didn't-" Amycus gave him a shove and Draco ran for the man's office, where the Floo would take him home. He never said goodbye to Parkinson-he rather regretted that later, because, although they were in proximity from time to time, he never really _saw _her again.

For want of a pin, the kingdom was lost. Which is to say, the third worst day of Hermione Granger's life began with waking to cramps which made her teeth ache. She didn't bleed anymore—too much lost body fat—but she could cramp, and did. She moved on and tended to the day like a farmer in a dying garden, which is to say, she grimly soldiered on.

The day only got worse, and ended with being thrown over Fenrir Greyback's shoulder and taken to Malfoy Manor. The three of them were dumped into the atrium. Hermione made herself stand up straight, despite the way her head was spinning and black spots kept appearing in front of her eyes.

"What an opportunity this is." They all recognised the Dark Lord's voice and turned. He was smiling. Beside him, Draco Malfoy was studying his shoes, trying not to attract any attention to himself. "Put the two boys below the floor, for now, and take the mudblood upstairs to young Malfoy's rooms. Draco, go with Snape and take the potion he gives you."

As two Death Eaters grabbed Harry and Ron and dragged them off, Hermione heard Lucius Malfoy say softly "Wouldn't my Lord prefer to finish Potter here?"

The Dark Lord laughed. "No, Lucius. We'll take him to Hogwarts and let them all see what happens to rebels. But first, an experiment." If this new potion proved a success, the Dark Lord would have his Death Eaters start administering it to the students at once, to start the next part of his plan.

Snape handed Draco a phial and Draco downed it, having no choice in the matter. It tasted of peppery windelwort leaf and something musky and vaguely fur like, perhaps, thought Draco clinically, costus root infusion.

The door opened and Draco dropped to his knees and kissed the Dark Lord's hem. "Well, Draco, you've passed the first test."

"My Lord?"

"You didn't die. It confirms my theory, wouldn't you say, Severus?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"May I ask what my Lord means?"

The Dark Lord lifted Draco's chin and smiled down at him. "You failed me once by not killing Dumbledore. I've found a way to be useful, after all. Are you grateful?"

Draco nodded immediately. "I am my Lord's most faithful-"

"Enough. Have you ever wondered, Draco, why your mother is a blonde and her sisters are not, nor Sirius Black, nor any other Black in living memory?"

"My Lord, my great grandfather, Damocles Black-"

"Was a half veela. Read Duns Caledonius' 'Historie of Wizording Englande', it's all in there."

Draco's jaw dropped. He was shaking his head mutely, but the Dark Lord pressed onward. "And this veela trait was passed through the bloodline, until it culminated in you. There have been rumours for centuries, but the fact you didn't die just now proves it true."

Draco couldn't have talked if he'd wanted to. He was trying not to sick up, not to scream. They'd given him a potion that shook the foundations of everything he'd ever thought to be true. His hands were clutching his wand with convulsive tightness, and he gave a strangled little moan after a moment.

"And now for the second test. Take him to his rooms, Fenrir, and we'll see what he does." Draco hardly felt himself being lifted to his feet and half dragged down the corridors by Greyback. 'Like I don't have enough bloody problems, playing nanny to a baby aristocrat. You must've been a good boy, young Malfoy, is all I can say, getting a treat like this. Thought I'd get first go." Still grumbling, the werewolf shoved him in and was off again.

Hermione stiffened when the door opened and someone was shoved in and the door slammed shut too quickly even to think of escape. She recognised the familiar shock of white blond hair and Draco Malfoy stood shakily.

"Malfoy?" Draco spun as he heard the mudblood's voice. He was preparing to say something when a painful cramp hit his stomach, doubling him over. He gasped and dropped like a stone, clutching his belly and groaning, vomiting convulsively and not caring.

Hermione's body reacted before her brain, which remembered this was Malfoy, after all. She went to him and dropped to her knees, moving him from the puddle of sick and yelling for an elf. None were forthcoming.

Draco felt everything and nothing. A change was coming over him, every sinew and muscle, every bit of bone, as DNA which had nestled harmlessly in his cells for his whole life suddenly activated all at once, a sort of great awakening.

He didn't know that, of course, only that he wanted to die. He took the hand the mudblood was offering him and gasped, pain tears dripping down his cheeks. It was a blessed brief process, as his body absorbed the changes and found homeostasis again. He finally felt the agony receding, and sat up, drying his eyes.

"Malfoy? Are you all right?"

Draco was preparing to tell her he'd be loads better if he wasn't looking at her ugly face, but he couldn't, because he realised, almost absently, that she was the best smelling person he'd ever encountered. It wasn't something he could quantify, exactly, only that she was. She smelled…ripe.

Something nagged his brain. It told him that he hated mudbloods, and this was the arch-mudblood, his sworn enemy. And why could he smell her? That wasn't normal. He thought about what the Dark Lord said and shuddered. Was this how animals felt? A world limned for them in scent, painting the wind?

He tried to rise to his feet and felt his limbs, so recently cramped, yowl protests. He finally managed it. That smell. Metallic but warm, with an earthy undertone like the smell of some of the girls after Quidditch practice. He found it incredibly appealing, in a way none of his female teammates had ever been.

He wondered if someone else would be coming up to check on them, and as soon as he'd articulated the thought, a wave of anger swept through him, sharp and hot. He wondered why he cared; he had enough to deal with right at the moment, and he'd always hated Granger. But he'd never smelt anything more compelling than this, and every fibre of his being was demanding he explore this.

He didn't want to. He wanted to get out and get away from Granger and her disturbing smell, find Father and ask him what to do. But he wasn't capable. Ever part of him, every bit of his heart and every breath he took, was propelling him toward the mudblood, toward her smell.

Wandless as she was, she wasn't acting the slightest bit afraid. He came and studied her and she studied him straight back, tense but not seemingly full of dread. He bent and smelt her more closely.

Hermione stiffened and instinctively tried to push Malfoy away when he put his face against the her neck. "Stop that!"

Draco ignored her. Stepping back, hr grabbed her face none too gently and studied it from every angle. "What've you done, Granger?"

She tried to shove him again and he loosened his hold enough for her to get away. "What do you mean?"

"Your smell. You never used to smell like this."

"I don't have a smell."

"Yes, you do. Is it perfume or something?"

Hermione looked level. "Malfoy, where would I have got perfume? I was living in a tent, for pity's sake."

He shrugged and then grimaced delicately. "You're filthy." A fine layer of dust had rubbed off on Draco's finger, and blood. He could smell it, rich and with a tinge of iron. And the slight wet earth of mushrooms, and...he jerked his head away, more disturbed by the second.

"Living in a tent, remember?"

Reason reasserted itself, and Hermione stepped back and said "Anyway, where are Harry and Ron? Why am I here?"

"I neither know or care."

The dirt smell was bothering him. Draco drew his wand and pointed it at her face. 'Scourgify'. Hermione yelped as the spell took all the dirt off her face, leaving it pink and glowing. Draco stepped closer and sniffed. Clearer now, and with greater nuance, like wine.

"A bath." Was he speaking aloud? Did it matter? He rather thought not. His mind was a place of deep quiet, at the moment-the human part of him, the wizard part, had receded, perhaps for the nonce and perhaps forever. His instincts were riding him, and all he could do was go along with them.

Hermione's heart rate was going up. She took a step back, and then another. Malfoy was moving with a sort of singleminded calm. She'd once seen footage of a tiger stalking a deer and the comparison felt a bit too apt to her. He was closer..closer...closing on her...smiling...closer.

Hermione, like Daphne pursued by Apollo, wanted to run. She couldn't. Instead, she lunged for his wand, hoping to knock him off balance and...what? She didn't know, only that he'd not hurt her without a struggle. She never even saw him move. One moment she was on him and the next he was pinning her arms to her side and laughing.

"No, Granger. Not going to happen." He was more than a head taller than she, and had the reflexes of a born Seeker. Draco picked her up lightly by the arms and took her to the ensuite bathroom, still chuckling.

Hermione fought him every step of the way, kicking and trying to claw. Malfoy ignored her. "Tibby' and an elf appeared, bowing 'undress Granger for me. Watch her, she's tetchy at the moment."

"Don't you dare!" Hermione didn't want to hurt the elf, who was only doing it's job. She lashed side to side, and Draco finally said 'Stop it this instant, or I'll undress you myself, and then invite my uncle and Wormtail to watch you bathe."

Hermione stopped, breathing hard, and let the elf guide her filthy blue jeans and ripped jersey off. When the elf reached for her bra, she flung her arms up and went rigid. "Malfoy, please."

He smiled. His human mind was reasserting itself, and he was contemplating leaving out of loyalty to Pansy. And he had no urge to see the mudblood's bubs, thank you. But he could see a way to get her at disadvantage, and he would spring.

"What'll you give me?"

"I've not got anything, they took it all."

"That's your problem. I suppose if you'd stop fighting the elf, I should leave."

Hermione bit her lip. "Fine."

Draco left and began to ward his room thoroughly, making sure no one but him could possibly get in. He wasn't exactly sure why this was so important but it was. The idea of another man in his room-possibly talking to Granger -was infuriating. Suppose she should like him better, this other man? Suppose she should think to share her smell with him, go away with him?

Well, Draco would have to kill him, if it came to that. Coming into his room, trying to steal the mudblood away-_his_ mudblood, the Dark Lord had given her to him, and that made it law. Draco grimaced fiercely and then made himself calm down.

A weaker part of himself protested that he didn't want Granger, and would gladly send her away. He didn't exactly want her dead, per se; but he had no illusions about what he would do to insure his own safety, and his parents.

The door opened and Tibby brought the mudblood out, wrapped in two towels. "What is Tibby doing with the lady's clothes, young Master?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Burn them. They're rags."

Hermione spun around. "No! I haven't got any others!"

Draco huffed. "Yes, because clearly, we've absolutely nothing here for you." He waved Tibby away. 'Get a nightdress for her, Tibby, and some stockings."

Dressed in a borrowed nightgown and stockings, Hermione found herself stewarded toward the bed. "NO!"

Draco was irritated by her stubbornness in all this. "Granger, stop it." He spared a thought for Parkinson, but it lived only a moment. She was fine, of course, but she didn't have the smell. And she wasn't here. Granger fulfilled both.

"You stop! This isn't right!" She'd promised not to fight the elf, not Malfoy himself. He clamped down on her wrist and marched her to the bed, using magic to spell the covers back and then lifted her in, dodging her kicking legs easily.

"Granger, enough. I can still invite Rodolphus, and he won't be content just to look, believe me." Draco shuddered a little, horrified at the thought of his uncle at the moment, and then forced it down to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Hermione finally found herself petrified, nearly against the wall. Malfoy stripped to his shorts and undershirt, climbing in after her. He wouldn't undress totally until she'd indicated she was receptive to him.

"Tibby, food. Some of that cold meat and bread, and pumpkin juice. Hurry, idiot!" The elf brought them a tray and Draco carefully bent over Hermione. "I've got some food for you. You act up and you'll live to regret it, understood?" She couldn't exactly reply, but Draco gave it a moment to sink it, and then carefully unspelled her, sticking her legs to the bed and her hands to her thighs.

"Open up, Granger." Hermione shook her head. "You are NOT feeding me."

"I am. Now, open up and you'll have some of this nice bread, hmmm?"

Hermione shook her head. "Sod off."

"I was going to have the same brought to your friends, but I don't care if you don't. Bet they'd like something to drink, at least."

Hermione hated him with her whole heart at the moment. "Fine."

"Too late. Now you have to ask me." He'd break this stubborn streak, that was the first thing. As long as she was here, she'd behave nicely or pay the price. It might set them back a bit, when it came to...what? Draco realised at some level that he was revolted by the mudblood and being close to her.

Then he caught her scent again. She smelled divine, warm and yeasty, faintly iron like. He dropped his head and smelt her hair, breathing it all in. He could hear her heart beat and she swallowed dryly. 'Need to get her re-hydrated. Send Tibby for more pumpkin juice, at least.'

"Please, Malfoy, would you send my friends some food?"

"No, ask me to give you some."

If eyes could kill, he would have been so much crow's food. Instead, she reminded herself that this was so Harry and Ron wouldn't go without and said 'Please may I have some food?"

"Of course. Juice first, hmmm?" She opened her mouth and swallowed the sweet, creamy juice. She'd not had anything sweet for months. It tasted wonderful. Before she realised it, the glass was empty.

"Better." He flicked his wand and cautiously let her hand free, giving her the piece of bread. "Slowly, there's more where that came from." She ate it all in a couple bites and then made herself look away from the cold roast beef on the tray. Draco handed it that as well, and it, too, was gone in just a few bites.

Draco felt a strong sense of-accomplish? Pride? He tried to shove the feelings away but couldn't. It was making him happy, watching her wolf down the food. Intellectually, he was appalled. He'd never seen a woman eat like that. But it wasn't bothering him at emotionally level. It was good to see her eat.

And her smell was changing slightly. It was gaining warmth and richness, deepening. He wondered what it would be like if she weren't so hostile. If she felt safe here. She ought to-he'd warded the room tight as a boomslang's eyelid.

Hermione's stomach was roiling. Draco could smell the sour, bileish odour and wrinkled his nose. "Told you not to eat so quickly." He eased her back and laid his head on the pillow beside her, inhaling her scent. Oh, it was so good.

Someone knocked. Draco pushed Granger under the covers and then went to the door. "Go away!"

"It's Father, Draco. May I come in?" Lucius hadn't been there for whatever had happened, but he was determined to see if his son was well. Draco slowly opened the door. "Perhaps I'd best come to you, Father."

Lucius stepped aside so Draco could cross. Draco quickly did a final ward and then closed and spelled the door locked. He was in his shorts and undershirt, and seemed either unaware or uncaring of his near undress.

"Sorry, Father. I had to make sure she was safe."

"Of course...she's not dead, then?"

Draco shook his head, eyes wide. "No. Was she supposed to be?"

"His Lordship sent me to check on you. Has _anything_ happened, Draco?"

Draco looked down. 'Something's different, Father, but I-it's not something to put into words.' He did as best he could anyhow, and Lucius listened, nodding thoughtfully every so often.

"I've no idea what to tell you, Draco." He wanted to take his son into his arms and hug him,and promise he'd make it all better. But he couldn't, and the look on the boy's face told Lucius that he knew that.

"Where are Potter and Weasley, Father?"

"Being kept under the floor, for the moment. If his Lordship's experiment should prove successful, he'll take Potter to Hogwarts and dispatch him there." Draco was nodding thoughtfully.

"I want them kept away from Granger. They'll try to take her."

"Take her where, Draco?"

"Away. They want it for themselves."

"Want what?"

"Her smell. Don't you notice it?"

Lucius inhaled as subtly as he could. He shook his head no. "I can't say I do, Draco."

"Just as well. It's not-it makes it hard for me to remember that I hate mudbloods. Isn't that...this is...' Draco's eyes filled and he looked away. 'It's hard, Father."

"No doubt, but I know you'll handle it brilliantly, Draco." Lucius gave the boy an encouraging smile and a squeeze on the shoulder, wondering how to explain this to his master.

Hermione laid on her back beside Malfoy, who looked edgier than he had. "Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did your father have news of Harry and Ron?"

Draco looked down at her. "Yes, but it doesn't concern you. Go to sleep." Hermione didn't think she'd ever sleep again.

Unsurprisingly, the Dark Lord was not happy. "Severus, I rather thought the potion would have more effect than this."

"My Lord, I don't know what to say. Perhaps I could go and speak to the two of them?"

The Dark Lord nodded wearily. "Do, and have an answer for me by the time you're back. If he isn't going to do anything useful, we'll give the girl to Greyback."

Snape was wondering whether Albus would tell him the girl was a worthy sacrifice. Miss Granger herself would probably bare her own throat for the wolf if it would keep the nuisance and the moron safe, but he wanted to get all four of his former students out of this alive.

He knocked. "Malfoy?"

"Go away!"

"Malfoy, open this second." Snape used his Head of House tone and expected it to work. What he didn't expect was a hissed obscenity and the door to come open a crack. "I can't let you in."

"Malfoy."

"Really, Godfather, please." Draco had always admired Snape, had known him since he was a tiny baby and even loved him. But he couldn't let the man in or something might happen. "I don't what might happen if I do."

"This is life or death, Malfoy, open the door."

Draco guided him over the wards ands immediately trained his wand on him. "No farther."

Snape froze, hands where Draco could see them. "Malfoy, might we talk about how you are feeling?"

"I-no. I don't-this is-I'm scared, Godfather. This is-I could hurt someone."

"That's what we're going to prevent. May I speak with her?"

Draco blocked him. "No."

"Draco, this is vital. The Dark Lord will give her to Greyback if you don't. He's not happy you didn't maul her to start out with."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Draco was torn between tears and rage. Why would he maul Granger? On the other hand, if they couldn't smell what he could smell, she'd be safer from any who would take her away.

"Because male veela are territorial to a murderous degree. I believed his Lordship thought that having a stranger in your rooms might bring forth those impulses."

"Well, it didn't."

"Obviously. And you've not tried to...hurt her?"

Draco held onto his normal mind, his human mind, with every scrap of self control. "I would not do that." The thought of someone trying, the thought of Granger being hurt...his hands were knotting into fists again.

"Calm down, Malfoy.""You calm down! First I have to drink some potion that turns me into an animal, and then no one tells me anything, and now you tell me to calm down!"

"Stop it at once. The important thing is saving everyone involved. Let me see Granger."

"No!"

"Malfoy, I'm trying to help you." Snape wished his godson had recently come into some sort of veela blood, because the boy needed some sense smacked into him. He settled for his famous death glare. "Draco Lucius."

Draco jumped, not having heard that from Snape in what, seven years? He swallowed and tried to control the impulse which screamed at him to attack his godfather for trespassing and trying to steal Granger from him.

"I-I'm sorry, Godfather. Everything is-different."

"Then come with me while I speak to her, Draco, and we'll see what we can do to put it to rights."

Draco could see the sense of this in his mind, even as that part of him waxed and waned at the same breath. He let Snape approach.

"Miss Granger, is there anything about yourself that's recently changed?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, sir." Snape waved his wand and briskly ran a diagnostic spell on her. His eyes widened gently. "Miss Granger, you did not tell me you should be menstruating."

"I'm not accustomed to blurting it out!"

Snape's mind was working at a dazzling clip. "This changes everything."

"So you see, my Lord, it would seem the potion did work, after all. Draco was exposed to the fertile female entering his domain, and claimed her for himself."

"Then why has he not…"

"She wasn't indicating willingness, and he apparently perceives those around him as a threat to be guarded against. I suspect he would have done, had he felt more secure."

The Dark Lord brow was beetling. "You mean to tell me that just because the mudblood is…that Malfoy Jr. has somehow bonded to her?"

"That's correct, my Lord."

The Dark Lord sucked in air. "Then we'll dispose of the girl and try again. Some good may yet come from all this. But, Severus, I would try very hard, were I you, to see this sort of failure doesn't happen in the future."

Snape bowed low. "Would my Lord permit me to go and ease the girl from young Malfoy's hands? He might prove violent, otherwise." The Dark Lord waved him out, and Snape, wracking his brain, tried to figure out how to get them out alive.

Draco wouldn't hear of it. "You aren't going anywhere, Granger. I'll protect you here."

Snape snorted. "Draco, it might have taken Rosier and three others to take down the Prewitts, but there were two of them and only one of you. You'll have to let her go."

"NO!"

"Malfoy, please!" Draco felt a flash of deep hate in his heart for the Dark Lord for having separated him from Granger, exposing her to all sorts of other males. Potter could defeat the Dark Lord...but Potter was slated to die the next morning. If Draco helped Snape free Potter...

"Come on, then." Hermione didn't question his sudden change of heart; as mad as he was acting, she was just glad to have had a chance to get them out alive. She made no note of her own attire, and though the history books would hymn Hermione Granger as the second Circe, none would mention the strange fact that she fought in a nightgown, and smelt of expensive soap and powder.

For want of a pin...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black.**

**Of all the things Draco tells Hermione, all of them were_ actual _laws during the Victorian era or later. Until the 1970s, the doctrine attributed to Fimbrius Malfoy was a law in numerous states in the US.**

"A Witch and Wizard are one person under the law, and that person is the Wizard."

Fimbrius Malfoy 'De Familia' 1785

The history books also didn't record Draco Malfoy's attempts to find Granger during the battle, nearly mad with the desire to protect her, or how he'd been thwarted, and then consigned to house arrest with both his parents.

Or the symptoms he was manifesting. Like the pacing. He was always pacing, when he wasn't trying not to smash things and yelling at anyone who got too close. He'd actually shouted at Mother. The sight of her tears had been incredibly awful, and Draco found a new ingredient added to the Veela stew inside him: self loathing.

To make things worse, he found he was burdened with compulsions now. He'd had the elves put up heavy winter curtains to make his bed feel safer and more private. He spent inordinate amounts of time patrolling the grounds to see that intruders were kept away; some people think of long solitary walks as a means of self improvement-Draco considered them signs of encroaching madness.

And then there was Parkinson. The Ministry had put out that he'd been badly injured and no guests were to allowed at Malfoy Manor until he was well. That suited Draco. He'd no urge to see Pansy. It would seem like a substitution of the most unsatisfactory kind, a scrap of mouldy bread for a piece of Sacher torte.

Draco heard Father's footsteps in the corridor. He paid more attention to those things these days, rather through instinct or because he had cause to think about them he didn't know. Father knocked and then paused, careful not to approach without Draco's say so. "Enter, Father."

"Draco, there's a woman from the Ministry here. They want you examined."

The woman was a pretty, tired looking witch of thirty five or so. "Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. Your arm, please." The woman tried not to grimace when she saw the Mark; she calmly drew a drop of blood and swished her wand over it, analysing the resulting runes and sigils with startling rapidity.

"No doubt about it, he's got active veela traits. I'd say a good thirty percent or so."

She gave them some forms to fill out, stamped them, and like that, Draco was registered as a part veela, and therefore a protected class. And I presume you're aware of your right to choose a mate?"

Narcissa spoke up from the chair next to Lucius'. "He has."

Draco briefly outlined what had happened for the woman, who was nodding along.

"The actions you took show plainly that this girl is your mate. I'll file the petition when I get back. Who is she?"

"Hermione Granger."

The functionary dropped the quill. "You don't mean-"

"And now perhaps you see the dilemma?"

The woman was shaking her head. "There's not one. The Granger girl has no choice but to comply. Since they started keeping records on this in 1469, there have been over five hundred cases of mates who tried to refuse. They finally enacted laws to take away that option." She showed them a small pamphlet entitled 'Veela Blood? Know your Rights!"

"So this Veela Mate Act takes away her right to refuse me?"

"Correct. They were having serious problems with outbursts of violence on the behalf of the veela-mate."

"What do we have to do?"

The woman felt a twinge of sadness for the girl, she really did. But considering exactly how violent part veelas could get to claim (or defend) a mate, she understood precisely why refusal wasn't an option for Hermione. So she calmly took out a mini-Pensieve and asked Draco to call forth his memories for her to harvest.

After a brief test with Veritas syrum, the woman left, having ruined Hermione's life, as required by law.

Hermione and Ron had been sitting on the divan, her head on his shoulder, when the letter had come. He'd been stroking her hair. "Hermione?"

"Ron?" She'd always wonder what he might have said next, except that the letter came, along with an eagle owl. He'd rose, grumbling, and opened the window. "It's for you."

She took the letter from him, slit the seal and read:

"Dear Miss Granger,

A veela claim has been registered between yourself and one Draco Lucius Malfoy. A hearing has been set for three days from now, at 9:00 AM.' There were a few more details but Hermione didn't notice them, so intent was she on what she'd just read.

"Ron? I think we've a problem here."

They reached the room at 8:45. The Malfoys were there. As soon as Draco saw Hermione, he started toward them. His father quickly clamped his shoulder and said something in his ear. He calmed ever so slightly, but it hardly took an Arithmatician to see that he was like a pot on slow boil.

This was torture. It took all Draco's self control not to go over there that second and take her away. Couldn't they see she was his? Everything about her belonged to him, and this whole thing was stupidly unnecessary. It was so absolutely plain, why didn't they just give her to him so they could go home? Draco could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palms and understood why there were veela laws.

"Malfoy claim hearing? Room three, please."

The magistrate was sitting at the table. "Claimant first."

The Ministry employee handed the file over. "Everything looks in order. Miss Granger?"

Hermione had spent the previous two days and nights poring over every books she could find that had anything to do with veelas. She'd found very little to help her refute Malfoy's claim on her, but she'd not go down without a fight.

"Mr. Weasley has asked me to marry him, which is a binding verbal precontract. Harry Potter is prepared to swear to the veracity of my statement." Harry nodded and shot daggers at the Malfoys.

Lucius hardly grabbed Draco quickly enough to keep him from springing at Potter. Draco wanted to tear his arm from the socket. How dare they try to take her away!

"The law makes clear that the ritual pre-mating activity constitutes binding betrothal and therefore overcome a verbal precontract. Your previous engagement is null and void. Has the former fiance paid any bride price to Miss Granger's parents?"

"No, sir." Ron blushed, knowing the Malfoys were smirking at him. Well, sod them, Hermione's parents didn't want his money and they were modern people-why should he pay for her like she was a wheel of cheese?

"Mr. Malfoy, have you made restitution to your former fiancee?"

"I have, your Wisdom."

The old man nodded. "Fine, then. Let the record show that Draco Lucius Malfoy, active part veela, and Hermione Granger, his mate, are by Ministry decree joined and become one in fact of law. Miss Granger is released into the custody of Draco Malfoy."

"Then I might take her home right now?" Draco was already crossing to where Hermione was, and when her friends blocked his way, he simply shoved them aside. It might have got truly ugly had the aurors not stepped in and pulled Harry and Ron away from Hermione.

"Legally."

Draco knew that, betrothed or not, it wasn't seemly for him to touch Granger in public. He found he didn't care. He put both arms around her and held her tightly for a moment, revelling in her scent and her warm skin. She was wriggling against him, but that was all right. She'd learn, surely. It took all his will to step back, keeping a hand on her arm. "Time to go home."

"No."

"Granger."

"No, I said." Hermione reached for her wand, only to remember they'd taken it from her, like everyone else. Malfoy stepped closer and the magistrate finally stepped in.

"Miss Granger, I regret that you don't wish to go. But you must understand, at the moment you're a public health risk, exactly like an epidemic of Dragon Pox or Hierophant's Chorea. You've seen Mr. Malfoy nearly attack several people as we were standing here. Whether you go voluntarily or not, you will go."

Hermione wondered if this is how prey animals felt the second before the predator pounced. "Isn't there an appeals process?"

"I'm sorry. Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you should leave before things turn unpleasant."

"Of course. Draco, if you're ready..." Draco took Hermione's wrist and led her off without another word. Hermione jerked against his hold as he led her down the corridor. "Stop it and come along, Granger."

"Let go!"

They'd reached the Floo before he could respond and he decided that, the strong talk about manners they'd be having later aside, to take a direct course. He simply stepped in and said 'Malfoy Manor'.

Hermione's first impression was they were in a museum, or a high class brothel. Everything was mirror and gilt, thick carpets and dark wood. Malfoy, without releasing her wrist, managed to get her cloak off and threw it to the floor.

"Well, Draco, that went nicely."

"I thought so too, Mother."

"I expect Miss Granger and yourself will be adjuring upstairs now?"

"I daresay. Though I expect an apology wouldn't be amiss, would you, Granger?"

Hermione pulled hard at her arm. "Hell will freeze first."

Lucius didn't especially want a scene at the moment-after all, the girl had been here all of five minutes. Once Draco had got to work kerbing that stubborn streak, he'd give her a good scolding about her behaviour, but not until she'd adjusted a little. One might as well shout into a storm, otherwise.

"Perhaps later, Draco. Why don't the two of you go and get to know one another better, hmm?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, Father." Without another word, he started to drag her toward the stairs and then thought better. They would Floo instead, so she'd be less inclined to try to esca-wander where she oughtn't.

For the second time in one day, Hermione found herself spit into unfamiliar territory, except that it wasn't. It was Malfoy's rooms. She had only a second to notice before Malfoy was through, and was staring at her,

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I want an apology."

"Fuck you." Hermione stared right back, not caring if he liked it. Malfoy huffed and stood a little closer. "Granger, perhaps you've not quite adjusted to this yet, but you're mine now, and when I tell you to do something, you'll do it."

"No."

"That wasn't a choice. Tell me you're sorry and we'll move past this." He was very annoyed she was acting out like this-of all people, she ought to have seen how important this was, how utterly right. And they were in their own rooms-wasn't that comforting to her? He could keep her safest of all here.

Hermione stood straighter. "I'm not apologising. You dragged me here against my will, and I shan't pretend otherwise."

Draco shrugged. "Your choice." A second later, Hermione found herself being carried toward the bed, struggling and fighting, trying to claw. He put her down on the bed and easily pinned her, letting her pound his chest and try to kick him.

"Get this out of your system directly, Granger, because it won't happen again. "

"LET GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

"No, _you're_ hurting you. Lie still."

"GET OFF!"

Hermione twisted violently and tried to squirm out from under him, even trying to bite him. Malfoy chuckled softly and pinned both wrists over her head, dropping his face to her neck and breathing. Her smell was still there, muted now that she wasn't in oestrus but still familiar, still compelling and earthy and wonderful.

Hermione was tiring. His grip was like iron and her muscles were burning, trembling. He was pressing himself to her, murmuring softly. "Keep fighting, Granger. Easier for me if you tire yourself out, isn't it?"

Hermione froze. Did he mean to...would he...Malfoy chuckled again. "That's better."

"Please let me up."

He shook his head. "No, I think this a good position for a chat about obedience, hmm?"

"Please, Malfoy?"

"That's a start, Granger. Now, if you're good, you get rewarded. If you aren't, you get punished, understand?"

Granger's pulse was racing in her throat. Draco grinned, knowing he was at his advantage now. "I shan't hurt you, Granger, but I can make your life most unpleasant. Are you going to be nice?"

Hermione nodded, eyes wide. Draco could faintly smell her fear-it was hot, strangely sweet, heady as wine. He suspected, had it been anyone else, he would have quite liked it, but as it was, it just made him feel unsettled, almost...nervous.

He relaxed his hold and found himself, quite unwillingly, stroking her hand lightly for a moment. "I really shan't hurt you, you know. Just take a deep breath and stop fighting, won't you?"

Hermione made herself go limp. She felt cold all over, realising how vulnerable she was and how awfully alone. She was in Draco's house, and if she screamed, no one would come. Even her parents thought she was at Ron's. They'd have told them, but...

"Malfoy?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Would you mind climbing off now?"

"Not yet. You understand your behaviour this morning was unacceptable, don't you?"

"I..."

"I know you've not been taught any better, but starting from now, if you're told to do something, you need to do it without fussing. We've a much higher standard than you're used to, but I expect you to make the effort."

He slowly let go and then rolled off, loathe to break contact just yet. "What did you eat last?"

Hermione slowly sat, watching him. "Dinner. Malfoy, this will never work."

"Of course it will. You're mine and that's an end to it."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Stop being stubborn about this, it's irritating."

"At very least, I need to go and tell my parents." She assumed Ron already had, but she was desperate to see them and explain, or just get a little comfort from their presence.

"No. The Ministry's already done, I'm sure." She wasn't leaving his sight for a very long time, at least, and they really did need to make an understanding about her behaviour. She'd feel better once she understood that he was in charge.

"I'd like to tell them in person."

"No, I said. Tibby' the little elf appeared and bowed 'fetch us something to eat, Miss is starving. And some pumpkin juice."

He turned back to Hermione. "Punishment and reward. Your fit at the Ministry means you don't get to go and see them for-oh, let's say a week. When you've proved you can behave in a way that befits a lady, we'll talk."

Hermione went white. "That's not fair, Malfoy."

"Look, have something to eat and perhaps you can send a letter."

The elf had brought smoked fish and cheese and bread, and Hermione picked at a little of the food, wanting desperately to contact her loved ones. Draco frowned. "No letter until you've cleaned your plate."

Hermione set her food down slowly. "Malfoy, I'm not a dog. Stop trying to tell me what to do."

Draco felt stung. He was trying to do what was best for them, that was all. But perhaps this was good-once she saw she couldn't have her own way all the time, she'd calm down.

" The magistrate said you're mine. That means I can tell you what to do and you'll have to do it. Meant what I said, I can make your life terribly unpleasant."

""How?" Nasty little git, always making himself feel better by tearing someone else down. Malfoy ate a bit of his food.

"I decide where you go, for one, and whom you might see. At the moment, you're restricted to this room, the lavatory and where ever Mother and Father explicitly request you be. I decide what books you read, what shops you shop at, what food you eat. You have no secrets from me, no matter how minor, no right to privacy I don't give you. When you go to St. Mungo's, the medi-wizard will be whomever I select to treat you, and he'll consult with me about my wishes as to your treatment. Have an account at Gringotts?"

"Yes." It was modest but Hermione had always been comforted, knowing she had a small nest egg in the wizarding world. Draco was smirking again.

"Not anymore. It's been frozen, or will be as soon as they get the word from the Ministry. After we're married, it gets closed and the funds transferred to my account. If you want something, you'll ask me and I'll decide if I want you to have it or not."

Hermione's cheeks were getting pinker by the moment. "That can't be right."

"No, it is. And I can dispose of anything of yours I like. Clothing, jewellery-not that I imagine you have much-books, that mangy animal-all belong to me now. So I guess I'd stop acting out, because your behaviour determines your comfort."

"You're making that up."

"Am I? Tibby, go get Fimbrius Malfoy's commentary on family law, and then whatever one like it is newest." Tibby obeyed, and returned with two huge tomes. "Go on, read."

Hermione flipped until she found the relevant portions and discovered, to her horror, that what he'd been saying was true. "This...this is...barbaric."

"Not at all. I've my obligations as well, you know. To keep you in reasonable style, for one, and make sure you've everything you need. Care for you, make sure you're protected and healthy. Support whatever children we have, and educate them."

And he'd do it. She was his, and if some of this was bitter to her, somehow, there was sweetness as well. He made her choices, but, if she was good, his guide would be her happiness. He'd see she was beautifully dressed, fed the finest foods, served by loving elves. Her life would be quiet and peaceful, and he'd keep her safe. What more could any woman want?

Hermione felt ill. She let the book slide from her hands onto the bed. This is so much worse than she might have thought. No matter how bad it had seemed, this was a thousand times more terrible. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't...her eyes were aching. "May I have some privacy?"

"No.' Draco scooted back on the bed and opened his arms to her. "Come and tell me all about it."

Hermione jerked as though she'd been burnt. "What?"

"No secrets, remember? I can't keep you safe if you won't trust me to make it better." He waited for her to curl up against him and tell him about what was bothering her. The rational human part of him seemed to find that unlikely, so Draco told it to piss off. Of course she trusted him; she was his.

Hermione made herself swallow the tears she'd only wanted a little privacy to shed. " No. I feel fine now."

"Mmmm, lying is naughty. If this continues, I should be forced to write that letter for you." He settled back and watched, delighted, as Hermione made herself approach him. This was proof, wasn't it, that she felt safe with him? "Take your outer robes off and leave them for Tibby to collect."

Hermione did it, leaving her in a simple dress and stockings. "That's so much better. Head on my shoulder, that's right." She was here, she was safe, she'd never leave him again. He locked his arms about her and gently slid down until he was lying nearly flat and he could direct her head to his chest.

Hermione's skin was crawling. She and Ron had done this so many times, and it had never felt like this. She hated it, hated him, hated the house and everyone in it. She'd never feel safe here, never.

"We don't have to talk about it right now. Would you rather a good nap first?" Hermione hated him even more for seeming sincere. Bastard. He'd ruined her life and then, unbelievably, wanted to cuddle like they were anything but captor and captive, or close enough to it.

"We'll be married soon, of course. Be sure your parents know that. I've no intention of ruining your reputation or anything. And Father will pay them a good bride price. Do you have a dowry?"

She shook her head no. Her parents...how would she ever tell them about all this? The sheer impossibility of the situation made her close her eyes against a few errant tears. How could she have survived everything only to end up on virtual house arrest in Malfoy Manor?

He could smell her tears. Hot, salty, without the depth and sweetness of blood. "Crying?" Stubborn mudblood, she actually shook her head! He tipped her face up, holding her chin. "Are too. Out with it."

"Don't you want to cry?"

"No." Why should he? His universe had righted itself. He gently rubbed her back with his free hand, feeling her heart pounding under his palm. Perhaps he ought to have her dosed before their first nap together.

"What about Parkinson?"

Draco actually got quiet for a moment. "It's not like it was. I wish her well, but'... but every ounce of passion had got concentrated that night, and spent on her. He had no room for feelings other than relief and a sort of bone deep contentment. It wasn't exactly happiness, but it wasn't unhappiness, and definitely wasn't Granger's silent, defiant misery.

"May I write that letter now?"

"Not yet. Close your eyes for a little while. Shall I read aloud?" He'd always loved being read too, and he was willing to bet Granger did too. Hermione shook her head. "I think I'd rather just sleep."

"That's fine. Tibby, find Miss a nightgown until we can get her one of her own." The elf complied and Draco smiled indulgently at Granger's discomfiture with his watching her undress. "Look, I'll hide my eyes. Is that better?"

Dressed for a second time in Narcissa Malfoy's spares, Hermione found herself under a mound of bedclothes. "I shan't leave you, Granger. Close your eyes and you'll feel so much better once you've woken."

Hermione found herself lying on her side, knees to chest, trying not to cry. Malfoy stayed beside her and then, sighing rose. "I'm going to write some letters. You stay there and rest, you're worn out." She'd be much more compliant and sensible after a long rest. Perhaps she'd even want to cuddle.

He sat down at the escritoire in his little sitting room, in full view of Granger, should she need him. "Dear Pansy,

I am compelled by sentiment to tell you..."

'


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they really made my day. I go back to college at the end of the month, so these fast updates won't be quite as speedy.**

**Love to my beta, Countess Black.**

Pansy Parkinson shrieked as she read the letter Draco had sent. She flung it to the floor and fell on her bed, wailing. The elf, alerted as to some kind of problem, appeared and had a shoe thrown at him.

"HOW COULD HE?"

Her father, alerted by the elf, made his way up the stairs. "Princess?"

"HE'S LEFT ME FOR A MUDBLOOD! MY LIFE IS RUINED! RUINED!"

"Now, Pansy, he'd no choice in the matter. And perhaps it's just as well, really. He sent us a huge sum."

Pansy shrieked louder. "I DON'T CARE! I WANT DRACO, NOT MONEY!"

Castor gave up and went to find Pansy's mother. Shouldn't she be dealing with this sort of thing?

As soon as Pansy had shrieked herself out. she rose, put on a bit of rouge, and went to see for herself whether Draco Malfoy had really left her for mudblood Granger.

Draco had finally let Hermione write the letter.

"Are you sending for that cat?"

"I'd like to."

"Don't. It might not be for the best."

"Why not?"

Draco inhaled. "Because I'm frightened that I may not tolerate it's presence. Truly, it might be better."

Hermione nodded slowly. "All right."

"And don't bother with clothing, we're having you made a new wardrobe."

Hermione snorted. "I can't afford that."

"I can. Have them send books and whatever else, but I'll be looking everything over, so don't think they can hid a Portkey for you or something."

"Duly noted."

Hermione tried to make herself sound happy. She didn't want them to worry, and would they keep Crookshanks for a little while?

"Have you inquired after their health?"

"I saw them four hours ago and they were both fine."

"What about other relatives? Grandparents, aunts, uncles?"

"There aren't any."

Draco huffed. "Fine, then." He flung himself on the bed and put his hands behind his head. "And tell them the elves will bring our gifts for them."

"Gifts?"

"Yes, of course. We aren't savages, Granger, to steal you like a troll takes a sheep." They'd had the gifts all ready to send for days-casks of rare wine, silks, fine furs, vases, goblin made candlesticks. It was a slightly symbolic gesture, as Hermione-and Draco-would get everything back in time, but they felt it important all the same.

Hermione jotted a note about it and then started to seal the letter. "No, let me look at it."

Hermione shook her head. "Come on, Malfoy, that's too far."

"Granger."

"Malfoy, be fair."

"That's two. You shan't like it if I get to three." He leant over and plucked the letter from her hand. "Diction unnecessarily informal, spelling excellent, penmanship poor. I'll send it at once, and that's an extra three days."

"Extra three days?"

"You don't defy me. I'll ask Mother about having Madam Malkin come to measure you. And don't bite your nails, it's common."

Hermione made herself take a deep breath. "I'm not used to being checked on, Malfoy. I just don't understand the need for all these rules."

Draco cocked his head. He didn't know how to explain, exactly- every lady he knew took it for granted that the men in her life would do those things because they cared, to keep them safe.

And he would keep her safe. As his human mind recoiled in disgust, Draco reached up to touch her face, wanting to reassure himself that Granger was there, Granger was real.

She jerked back from him. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Hermione's skin was prickling with alarm. She wished she weren't sitting down so she could move away from him. Malfoy, annoyed, put a hand on her arm.

"This stubbornness will cease." Draco reached out and gently took her had in his, smiling at how small it was, and how warm. "Why can't you just calm down, hmmm?"

"You honestly think, after everything that's happened, that I'm going to calmly accept this?"

"Why not? You-"

"Belong to you, like any other chattel." There was a sharp bitterness in her voice which Draco would have found a little funny if it hadn't been directed at him. He shook his head slowly.

"It isn't like that."

"Then what is it like?"

Draco was struggling for words to explain. "It's not like with a house elf, Granger. It's...special. You're safe here. I'll make you safe. And then..."

"Then?"

He threw his hands up. "What do you think?"

"I don't know!"

Draco was prepared to continue the discussion when an elf appeared, bowing. "Young Master is being needed in the Blue Salon."

"Very good, Minky. Have Tibby come and help Miss freshen up. Is it a Ministry employee?" Draco used to wand to spell the bed curtains together, to protect Hermione from view when she was in bed.

"No, young Master. Is being Miss Parkinson." Draco warded his room thoroughly and went, grimacing.

Pansy leapt upon him as soon as he entered. "TELL ME IT'S NOT TRUE!"

"Pansy, please don't screech. I've not gone deaf."

"IT'S TRUE!"

"Of course it's true." Draco sat down and folded his arms. "And God knows I'm sorry, Pansy. But the Ministry..." Draco was still human enough to remember the love he'd borne her, to want to spare her feelings.

"Damn them! Damn them!"

"I know. And like I said, I'm awfully sorry."

"And there's nothing you can do?"

He shook his head. "No. She and I, we're bound now." He was feeling himself getting slightly anxious. He wondered whether Granger was all right. What was she doing? Was she trying to get out? Parkinson was talking, but Draco found it hard to listen.

The elf was the twitchiest Hermione ever met. She found herself bowed into the bathroom as the elf, muttering aloud about what Hermione needed-' Is needing hairpins, comb, brush, needing some hair oil, needing maybe some powder' and sitting her down before the mirror. 'Tibby is asking Master giving Miss a vanity. Is needing one, now."

Hermione squirmed. She didn't want anything permanent, anything that would mean she was tied to this place, even a little. The elf did a bit of magic to smooth the tangles from the struggle with Malfoy on the bed, braided it neatly and tied it off with a bit of ribbon.

"Is being much better!" The elf looked so happy that Hermione had to smile. She let the elf scrub her face and even buff her nails, and then went back to the bedroom. She didn't want to be anywhere that reminded her of Malfoy, but when she tried to convince the elf to bring her some paper for a note to Ron, the elf refused.

"No. Tibby is not telling this time, but next time she tells the Master. Master is having to be stern with Miss, if she is trying to contact this Wheezy."

"I don't mean to do anything bad, Tibby."

"Oh! Oh! Tibby is boiling toes in oil! Bad elf! Terrible elf!"

Hermione shook her head frantically. "No need, Tibby! I shan't ask you again, I swear."

Having resolved that problem, the elf suggested that perhaps Miss would like something to look at. A magazine?

"That sounds wonderful, Tibby."

Draco finally disentangled himself from Parkinson. "You aren't even listening!"

"I'm a tad bit distracted, perhaps. Why don't you write me, that might be easier."

She rose, and he quickly pecked her cheek and turned. "The elf will see you out, Pansy." He was already going back up the stairs, back to Granger.

Before he went back to the rooms, he went to his desk and took out the letter Hermione had written to her parents. Made a few careful changes, stressing how happy Hermione was and what a wonderful match the two of them were. It would soothe the parents and make them more amenable, surely. Then he called for an elf to take it at once to Darlington.

Hermione huffed as she turned the page. She'd forgot how much she hated ladies' magazines. Wizarding or muggle, they gave her a bad taste in her mouth. This one, she noticed, was scrupulously absent of sex in all it's form. It was pages of saccharine poems, insipid fashion advice, and recipes.

"Having a good time?" Malfoy was standing in the doorway, watching her and smiling.

"Fine. How was Parkinson?"

Draco wouldn't say anything against her, at any rate. "Fine, as well. What are you reading?"

She held up the magazine and Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised."

"I didn't want to get the elf in trouble."

"Tibby, yes. She was my nanny, back in the day. Speaking of which, we'll need to get you a maid."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't."

"Pardon?"

"I'd never want to own another thinking being."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're still on about that?"

"There's nothing to be 'on' about. It's immoral."

"Is it? Tibby?"

Tibby appeared. "Young Master?"

"Would you ever want to be freed?"

"NO! NO! PLEASE!" Tibby, bawling, dropped to her knees and held Draco's legs. Hermione was violently disturbed. "Make her stop it, Malfoy!"

"You make it stop, Granger. Admit you're wrong."

"But I-"

"Hear that, Tibby? She thinks house elves should be given clothes."

"NO NO NO NO NO! PLEASE MISS! TIBBY IS GOOD ELF!"

There was a sort of 'hmmhm' noise, and Narcissa Malfoy's immaculately coiffed head came through the fireplace. "Children, what on earth is that racket?"

"Tibby, Mother. I'm giving Hermione a lesson in managing the house elves."

"I see. Could you perhaps do it a touch more quietly? Father's a dreadful headache."

Draco turned to Hermione and smiled charmingly. "That depends on Hermione, Mother."

"Hermione, dear, perhaps you'd understand if we ended the lesson a little early?"

"Of course. Tibby, please stop. I don't want to give you clothes."

Tibby calmed at once. "Miss p-promises?"

"I promise."

Draco made an impatient gesture. "Enough. Go on, Tibby." She left and they were alone again.

"Was the necessary, Malfoy?"

" Not if you'd obeyed me the first time."

"You never quit, do you?"

Draco moved too quickly to be seen. One moment they were about arm's length apart and the next he was nearly nose to nose. "No' he said, and tried to kiss her.

For himself, Draco had no urge to kiss the mudblood. He found the idea revolting, but his instincts were demanding he master her, and that struck him as a very good way to do that. Not totally, she had to show willingness for that-not that he'd try until she were receptive, anyway-but he could, perhaps, soften her with affection. And she'd definitely want to cuddle after.

Hermione avoided him just in time. His lips caught the tip of her chin, and she gasped, trying to shove him back. 'Don't!"

Draco reached out to grab either side of Hermione's face and pressed his lips on hers. He yelped as her teeth caught his lip and nipped. Not erotically, either, a hard bite meant to make him stop.

"OWW! Bloody shite, Granger!"

"DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!"

Malfoy picked her up by the arms and set her on the bed, warding it and then tugging the curtains to block Hermione from view. "Don't you dare move."

He stormed out, smirking at some level at the absolute irony of warding the room to protect the woman who'd drawn blood on him.

"She did what?" Lucius Malfoy fell back on his bed, rubbing his temples. "What could you possibly have done to provoke that?"

"Me? She _bit _me, and now I'm the guilty party?"

"Draco." Lucius adored his only child, but he also knew Draco had his moments of -well, perhaps being a touch dramatic. Draco huffed and looked away. "I kissed her."

"And there's the problem. She probably thought you meant to..."

"Meant to...Circe! She knows I'd never do that."

"Does she? What evidence does she have?"

"Father?" Draco looked close to tears, and Lucius leant to take his son's hand. "Darling, I know you'd not, and Mother-we love you very much and raised you better than that, might I add-but Granger doesn't. She knows she's here with you and you've taken her from everything."

Draco dropped his head into his hands. "This is a fiasco."

"It could turn into one."

"Parkinson came and shrieked at me for a while, too. All women are insane."

"Yes, they are, and it's for you to harness that to your own ends. As bright as Granger is, Draco, she's still only a woman. She's needs careful managing."

Draco lightly rubbed his sore lip and nodded. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Hold still, now." Lucius healed the boy's lip with a quick spell. "All right, love, enough sulking. Go and see to Miss Granger."

"Do you expect we should start calling her 'Hermione' now, Father?"

"Quite. Go and see to Hermione, then. But Draco?"

"Do make sure she understands that next time this happens, I shall deal with her myself." Draco's instincts flared painfully and he gasped, eyes closing so he wouldn't be tempted to do his father violence.

"A-all right." Draco nearly ran out, disturbed by how strong his impulse was. He went down the hall as quickly as possible and burst into his-their-rooms and crossed to the bed.

"Listen, Malfoy-"

"No, you listen. This can't ever happen again. . Because if it does, Father'll want to punish you and then it would be your fault if I hurt him."

Hermione blinked. "It most certainly wouldn't.'Malfoy opened his mouth to contest that and she put up a hand. 'But right now, I think we ought to talk about the situation at hand."

Draco crawled into the bed. "Talk."

"I regret having bitten you, but you scared me, and your intentions were not at all clear."

"Doesn't give you an excuse to wound me." Draco crossed his arms and scowled, annoyed that she hadn't liked the kissing. "Hasn't anyone ever done that before?"

"Yes, of course. But it's disrespectful of you to think you can do that whenever you like."

"I can do that whenever I like."

Hermione was shaking her head. "If we're going to make this work, there needs to be compromise, Malfoy." She didn't think, in her heart of hearts, that she'd actually have to stay here, but she may as well make whatever time she did have to spend in Malfoy's presence minimally tolerable.

"Quite. You must learn to compromise your own wilful urges and let me direct you."

"That's not what I meant!"

"No? That's what will happen."

Hermione had never felt more trapped. She could almost feel the walls closing about her, and brought her knees to her chest half consciously, wanting to defend against the imposition into every part of her life.

Draco crawled a bit closer. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Shut yourself up like that."

"Like you care."

"No, I do." He did, too. It wasn't safe if they didn't trust one another. At a purely human level, because someday she'd get her wand back, and he'd rather not fear a bolt in the spine every time he turned his head.

At an animal level, Draco found himself craving emotional contact. Touching was fine, but they'd bond much faster if she opened up to him. He imagined long, lazy conversations, curled together in bed as though they were the only people on earth. And once the children came...

Hermione pulled herself tighter. She was going to find a way to escape if it killed her, which it probably would. Malfoy was talking and she made herself listen, determined to find the key.

"And I imagine you'd like a honeymoon trip?" Take her mind off, make her see the rewards for obedience.

"It doesn't matter."

Draco cocked his head. "You're just saying that because you're in a nasty mood."

"I sincerely don't care."

"Being as things as rather chaotic at the moment, I'd say we should wait, but after that, where would you want to go?"

She looked away. "Wherever is fine."

Two could play at this game. "Fine, then. Have you any robes fits to be seen in company?"

Hermione put her head up. "My new ones I wore today, plus two others."

"They'll do for the ceremony. And since we won't be receiving visitors for a while, I suppose it will be adequate until Madam Malkin comes."

"Ceremony?"

"Of course. We're getting married, remember?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?" He wanted them to be married. It would help her adjust in some ways, knowing she couldn't leave. Well, she couldn't leave now, but being married would drive it home to her in a much more real way, the difference between a puddle and the ocean.

She didn't have an answer. "Won't it take time to plan a ceremony?" Ah ha! She'd bought herself a bit of time, surely. Except that Malfoy was shaking his head.

"No, not for the wedding. It's a family ceremony. We register our intent with the Ministry, Father says the words in the presence to witnesses, and that's it."

"That's not how Bill and Fleur Weasley did it."

Draco snorted. "Yes, well, what muggle lovers do is their own affaire. We're doing it traditionally."

"What about my parents?"

"What about them?"

"My mother's been waiting for my wedding for years."

"Tragic. We'll be sure and send them a picture."

At that moment, the elf brought the reply letter on a salver. "Good, Minky, hand it to me."

"But it's from my parents!"

"It certainly is. And if you manage to be nice to me until bedtime, I'll read it to you."

Her expression would have been comical if she hadn't started to sniffle a second later. "Something wrong, then?"

"You-you bas-ooh!"

"Me? Yes, indeed. Come here, Hermione. A secret wouldn't be very nice." Nearly gagging, Hermione made herself go to him. Draco decided to take things a step further this time. He simply tugged her into his lap, cupping her cheek to press her head down. "Isn't that much better?"

It wasn't. The tears finally came, and she felt no better afterwards, and he wouldn't let her up. "Shhhhh, there there, wiggling isn't nice at all."

What choice did she have? Oh, the things she would do to him once she was away from this hateful place! The first step was the letter, and so Hermione made herself not recoil from his hands on her face, or in her hair, and not scream, which was what she wanted most of all. At least, she consoled herself, he wasn't trying to _touch _her. But for how long?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**And Countess Black**

**Thoreau said 'Of all the ways to lose someone, death is the kindest'.**

Cyril and Anne Marie Granger were sipping tea in their kitchen when the Floo was suddenly alive with furious redheads, and the dark haired boy, too. All of them piled out as a single amoeba like mass of outrage.

At the same time, the first official owl from the Ministry came, followed shortly by a tired, pretty witch who was, metaphorically speaking, armed for bear. "I am so sorry to have to t-"

"Veela? What's that?" Cyril held up the letter, brow wrinkling in a most Hermione like fashion. Ron, who was, to put it very mildly, not taking this well, turned around and looked at the man who would never be his father in law.

"They've given Hermione to that bastard Malfoy!"

"WHAT?" Anne Marie had given her daughter her clear, unambiguous style of expressing herself, and it was showing.

"If you'd just let me-"

"MY DAUGHTER IS WITH A STRANGER?"

"Worse, she's with Malfoy!"

"Who's Malfoy? He's not the little snotty one?"

The tired, pretty witch sighed deeply. This was the worst part of her job. Now it was up to her to calmly explain to these people why they might-depending on the tender mercy of Draco Malfoy-never see their child again.

Hermione had quite recovered herself after her crying jag. She breathed deeply, let the elf bathe her face and murmur sympathetically, and then faced Malfoy, having climbed off his lap, though he permitted her only an arm's length away. "Malfoy?"

"Draco."

"Sorry?"

"Call me by my given name. Married people do that."

She ignored the last. "I understand this is hard for you as well-"

"No, you don't. You haven't the slightest notion of how this feels." Draco pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms about them.

"Everything's changed, Gr-Hermione. _Everything_. Food tastes different. Nothing smells like it should, and I have these compulsions that are starting to disrupt all sorts of things, not least of all constant proximity to yourself."

"I didn't realise."

He shrugged. "Why would you?"

"It's not...this won't be easy for anyone."

Draco shrugged again. "I'll survive. You, on the other hand, might want to adjust your attitude."

"For someone who was just saying how unhappy they-"

"I said different, not unhappy. I'm much happier now that you're here." There was no flattery in his tone, as though he considered the source of it all to be obvious enough not to need mention.

"Because we get along so nicely."

"We will. Once you stop trying to control everything, it'll go swimmingly."

"That easy?"

Draco nodded. "Take earlier, for instance. Why wouldn't you tell me what was the matter when I asked? There's no shame in a woman needing a good cry."

Hermione blinked. It was the last thing she'd ever expected to hear Malfoy say. He was cocking his head at her. "Generally, when a person speaks, we answer them."

"It wasn't about needing to cry, Malfoy. Your attitude isn't helping anything, either."

Draco snorted. "What attitude? That was the law, you saw it with your own eyes. But your co-operation would encourage me to be less strict in applying it."

Hermione smiled slightly. "You do know I spent a prolonged amount of time living in a tent?"

"Of course, I read the paper every day. I imagine you'd like to as well." Another privilege he could take away if she got cheeky with him. Hermione must have predicted his train of thought, because she smiled again.

"Not much was in that tent. Beds, really, that was the main thing."

"That sounds beastly." Draco frowned, wondering what fool had thought his Hermione fitted to a life like that- she was too fragile, and it had given her all sorts of problems when it came to feeling safe. Probably she'd been busy fending off Potter and the Weasel, and worried that every man was like those buffoons.

"My point, Malfoy, is that I can go quite a long time on very little."

Draco blinked. Twice. He'd not given that any thought at all-every woman he knew loved her small luxuries, and being stripped of them would be a dreadful punishment. Father, in fact, often reminded Draco that he had never found it necessary to restrict Mother from anything, because he'd chosen so well. "And,' he always added 'because your mother is quite the finest lady I know."

Clearly, this was not the case with Hermione. He crossed his arms and gave her a sharp look. "It's hardly the same."

"No? How is that?"

"Because...it isn't. It's grindylows and redcaps."

"No, it's not. There's only so much you can take from me without doing me harm."

"That's true.' Draco smiled and leant toward her, so far she fell back onto her elbows. 'But there's plenty I can do to other people, isn't there?"

"How do you mean?"

"Be a shame if all those inventions the Weasleys patented with the Ministry were declared potentially harmful and destroyed, hmmm? If that oaf Hagrid were found with some sort of banned substance in his hut? And your parents...my word, anything could happen, couldn't it?"

Hermione went white. She couldn't believe anyone would be so cruel. "You wouldn't...but..."

"I wouldn't? That's up to you."

"But they aren't even part of this."

"Unless your behaviour compels me to make it part, they aren't. The Malfoys have a lot of friends that haven't forgot what they owe us."

Hermione felt more tired than she ever had. It wasn't a bodily tiredness; it was the bright, cold temptation to despair, to give up and give in. "You really do hate me."

"Not at all. You're my very first concern." Draco reached out and gently moved a little hair out of her eyes, lingering to smooth her brow a bit. Hermione was staring blankly at the duvet.

"Then why are you destroying everything I've worked so hard for?"

Draco shook is head. "Because everything you've worked for is wrong."

The letter received by the Grangers and everyone else in Darlington was less than reassuring. Hermione didn't sound much like herself, for one; for another, she indicated it would likely be a long time before they saw one another, at least ten days.

" 'But I love you very much, and we'll get through this.'"

Ron was crying quietly. What if Malfoy hurt her? What if he made her...His sobs shook him silently, and flanked by Harry on one side and George on the other, they tried to find a way around this stupid, hateful law.

Hermione sank into silence, and Draco, taking it for thoughtfulness, let her. He laid down, pulling her alongside him, and relaxed in her presence. She was warm and terribly small, he thought, more than a head shorter.

"Hermione?"

She slowly looked at him. Her mind was going rapidly, at a rate most people would find nauseating. She had to find her way free of this. She would. If she could destroy a Horcrux, she could find her away round Draco Malfoy.

"Yes?"

Draco ran is palm lightly over her back. " It isn't as bad as all that, you know."

"No?"

He shook his head. "You're safe, at least."

"I was safe at home, too."

"Weren't. Suppose someone had tried to attack you?"

"They did. They died and I'm still alive."

Draco laughed suddenly. "Yes, but I lived with them a year.' He kept stroking her back. 'Is there anything you'll need in the next few days?"

"Need?"

"You aren't on any potions? Are there any foods that make you ill?"

"No. Nutrient potion, twice a week."

"Write down your dosages and we'll send to Hamm's for some. And clothing-you've indicated you have nothing decent?"

"My clothes are fine."

"Mother says Madam Malkin will be here in the morning, so you should have things fairly quickly."

"I'd think it would take a long time, getting someone that busy."

"Meant what I said. Malfoys have a lot of friends, and they understand the benefits of seeing we're happy."

Hermione was still trying to work out a decent plan in her mind. "Happy?"

"Of course. I want you to be happy, as well."

"You don't act it, Malfoy. Not at all."

He cocked his head sardonically. "We have different views of happiness, is all. Once you understand, you'll see why I'm right."

"Right to imprison me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Dramatic, aren't we? No, of course not. As soon as I can trust you, you can do quite a lot of things."

What wasn't she getting? He didn't want to keep her in his rooms (not that he minded, but he did have things he had to do). He wanted her doing things and having fun-spending time with Mother and Father, enjoying herself with suitable female friends, shopping, whatever else women did.

But she had to understand that it all came down to him. He would give her the world-but she'd come and sleep in his bed at the end of the day. Draco sighed and gently wound a curl around his fingers.

"I have the idea we've very different idea of what constitutes appropriate things to do, Malfoy."

"Draco, remember? I shan't remind you again."

"May I look at that letter now?"

"Bedtime, and don't ask me again. Speaking of which, you sleep in here."

"Where do you sleep?"

"Here. Are you a very light sleeper? I am."

"We can't...I mean..."

"Can. And if I'd wanted to...you know...I'd have done by now." His brow creased; he'd have to ask Mother to have a discreet word with Hermione about her marital obligations to him.

"How generous of you."

"You do know what I mean?" Draco tightened his hold a little. He'd never actually _seen _a naked woman, but Zabini claimed to have done things with one of the Griffyndors (Brown? Bowen?) and had told him everything.

"I'm not eight, of course I know."

Draco was unconvinced. "Your mother's told you?"

"Yes, she did."

"They never tried anything, did they? Potter and Weasley?"

Hermione was torn. She didn't want to tell him. Her memories could sustain her, she knew, and even if they couldn't, it was damned well private information. She took a deep breath.

"Nothing happened that I didn't want to happen."

Draco's eyes hardened. "Which one was it?"

"Ron. We were engaged, remember?"

"And he decided to take advantage of you?" Draco gently rolled her off of him and rose, looking for his shoes. "Where are you going, M-Draco?"

"To kill Weasley. Shall I get anything while I'm out?"

"That isn't funny, Malfoy."

"Quite. Be good while I'm gone."

Hermione jumped off the bed. "Malfoy, don't!"

"He took advantage of you."

"No, he didn't. I asked him."

That, at least, stopped Draco. He turned around and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Say that again?"

"I asked him to. We thought we were going to die, and..." Hermione's face was going red. To save Ron, she had betrayed him. Draco wasn't moving. He finally swallowed.

"You didn't understand what you were asking him to do."

"I did."

"Then he seduced you. Did he give you wine to drink?"

"Malfoy, we were to be married. We love one another. That's all. We did it because we might never have had another chance." And they hadn't, but they'd never anticipated that they might live and still be separated. Of all the ways to lose someone, death is truly the kindest.

Draco had never been angrier. His hands were knotting into fists, and he imagined driving one into Weasley's smirking stupid face. When he saw how Hermione was watching him-guarded and wary as an animal- he forced himself to calm down.

"You're safe, Hermione. I shan't ever hurt you."

"I'm more worried about-"

"Don't say it. Never let me hear you say that name again."

"Malf-Draco, I-"

"It's for his safety as much as anything else, Granger. You don't understand how badly I want to hurt him right now."

Hermione nodded. He could smell her fear and it made him unhappy. He moved back to where she was, sat on the bed and tugged her into his lap. "Why are you afraid?"

She stiffened. "It wasn't myself I was worried for."

Draco put his arms around her and rocked for a moment. "Don't be afraid, Hermione. I shan't ever hurt you." Hermione closed her eyes and made her breathing still, willed her heart to stop pounding.

"But I'd like something from you. I suppose a letter for a letter would be a fair trade, hmmm?"

She went still. "Malfoy..."

"The law says if he approaches you, it's his fault if I maul him. Best make sure that never happens, wouldn't you say?'

Hermione met his eyes. "You are a terrible person."

"No, my pet, I simply go for what I want. And what I want is to make sure Weasley doesn't try to compromise you."

"What happened to trust, Malfoy?"

His face tightened. "I'll bring you my lap desk and you can begin."

**_It was dark_. _Harry was sleeping, and had been for an hour when he came to her. She'd whispered in his ear before supper, and he'd waited, feeling like he had coals in his stomach, and now here he was._**

**_Hermione was lying on her side when she felt his big, rough hand on her shoulder. "Mione?"_**

**_She rolled on her back, sat up and hugged his neck. He hugged her back and gently eased her down onto her bed. "Are you sure?"_**

**"_Yes. You?"_**

**"_What if you get..."_**

**"_I've known a contraception spell since I was fifteen." She showed him how to swish and whispered the word to him. "Do you want to?"_**

**_He did it, and her belly glowed blue a moment and then faded. Harry groaned once and then rolled on his stomach, mumbling. Was he having a nightmare? No time to worry now, not with this last thing to do, this last experience to have before the end that might come._**

**_They could not afford to undress, but they lowered and unbuttoned and moved, entwined, kissing, and then Ron whispered "I'm ready."_**

**_Hermione spread her legs and guided him. It hurt-hurt a lot-but she was glad, glad she could give him this, this drop of her blood. After the first pain had faded, she felt a sort of exultation in it; it had not killed her, they were seventeen and prepared to die for their friend, sleeping a metre away, and the pain had made her feel alive. _**

**_They slept in her bed until dawn, when Hermione rose and went to work in silence, and woke Ron before Harry, and said no more of it._**

Ron read the letter she'd written as her parents had read theirs, with incredulity. "She says we can't ever see one another again."

Percy Weasley, who'd been silent thus far, spoke up. "She's right, Ron. He'll kill you, at least right now. Later he might mellow somewhat."

"What has to happen before then?"

"They have to..."

Ron started to cry again, but this time it was anger.

After she'd written the letter, Draco decided to reward her. He kissed her cheek, praised her verbally (Mother always said that verbal praise was the cornerstone of maintaining discipline) and then offered to read the letter to her right then.

Hermione, emotionally spent, nodded her agreement and sat, hands in lap, and listened.

"_Hermione,_

_There's a lady from the Ministry here explaining everything. Thank you for letting us know. We love you and will do whatever we can. Please come and see us whenever you can. We'll keep the cat for you-you know how he and Dad get along._

_Just keep up informed, all right? And make sure you keep up with your flossing,_

_Love,_

_Mum_

Draco sat the letter aside, having left out some bits and bobs about various stupid matters Hermione wasn't to waste time worrying about. She was looking thoughtful, still, but not sad. He stroked her cheek lightly and then rose. "Will you be all right here for a few moments? I should like to speak to Father."

"I'll be fine." He called Tibby to stay with her, and then went to the study, where Father was looking absolutely smug about something. " Draco, you are to be congratulated."

"Oh? Did the Harpies win the game at Sheffield, Father?"

"No, and never shall, you insolent brat of a child' Lucius said, giving his son a fond look. 'Grandfather is positively spinning in his tomb. Supporting the Harpies..."

Draco grinned at Father's playful teasing and said "What, then?"

"Before sundown tomorrow, you will be a married man."

Draco beamed. "Father!"

"Go and tell Mother, love. She'll want to know." Draco did just that, and the process that began with the tired, pretty witch ruining Hermione's life came that much closer to bearing fruit.


	5. Chapter 5

'_A witch trades the nominal independence of single-hood for the support and protection of married life; a wizard takes on the burden of supporting another in return for a helpmeet, a companion and a mother to his children.'_

_-Diogenes Malfoy, 'On Married Life'_

It was, thought Lucius, quite the worst wedding he'd ever been to. And he'd been to some terrible wedding, so this was saying something. The only happy face was his son's, who was holding the girl's arm and whispering in her ear, clearly trying to cheer her up.

His respect for the mudblood, Lucius admitted privately, had gone up quite a lot when Narcissa had told her it was time. "For what?" Hermione hadn't seen Draco for a very long time, and even before Narcissa answered, she knew in her heart.

"Today is your wedding day, my dear." Narcissa made herself smile brightly, hoping to allay a nasty scene. Lucius stood beside her and hoped the girl would not have to be dragged or carried down to the salon where his son was doubtlessly pacing in worry, wanting to see the girl again.

Hermione swallowed hard. "I could refuse. Refuse to go."

"You could try, certainly. But you're hardly the first girl to resist her marriage, you know. If you force us to, we can write the Ministry to get an emergency order to make you comply. Or simply dose you with a heavy calming potion." Lucius raised his eyebrows at the girl, wondering if she would rise to the challenge like he thought she would.

She'd squared her shoulders and risen from her chair without another word.

Draco was waiting with Greg Goyle, who was his second. He immediately stepped between Greg and his intended as Lucius started the ceremony, giving Goyle a look that could only be described as hostile.

"I consent to the marriage of my son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione Granger."

In ordinary times, Greg would have taken Hermione's hand and guided it into Draco's. Considering how poorly Draco was reacting to even having him in the same room with the girl, they'd opted to ward Goyle for his own safety and just have him speak the words.

"I offer Hermione Granger for the purpose of bearing legitimate children."

"I accept Hermione Granger for the purpose of bearing legitimate children."

Lucius spoke briefly about their responsibilities to one another. "To care for her, to guide her, to comfort her and see to her needs in all circumstances."

"To help him, obey him, see that the house is well ordered, to care for my wife and I in our old age, to bear his children and rear them." The girl's face never changed.

"Do you accept?"

Hermione said nothing. She couldn't outright refuse, but she was hoping that her lack of response would invalidate things. Draco, still smiling, bent his head to her ear. "We could force the Weasleys from that hovel they live in within an hour or so. Shall I send the owl now?" He took her hand in his and entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing lightly.

Hermione pulled her head away. " I accept."

Lucius raised his wand and swished it at their joined hands, causing a thin gold band to encircle them for a moment.

"Then let it be known these two are married, now and forever. Congratulations, Draco." Narcissa bent to kiss her son and new daughter in law, and Lucius gave his son a hug.

Hermione looked around. "Don't we sign something?"

"No need. If there were ever to be a doubt, all the Ministry would have to do is use a Pensieve on us, or check Father's wand." Draco smiled brightly and guided Hermione toward the stairs.

Narcissa hald expected the girl to lose her composure, screaming and pleading, but she didn't. She tightened her jaw and pulled away from Draco. He frowned and took her hand more forcefully. This time she made herself let him.

Lucius and Narcissa followed them to the bedroom. The men waited outside while Narcissa had the elves undress Hermione and put her under the covers, speaking gently to soothe the poor thing.

"Now just remember to lie still and let Draco do everything. If it revolts you, remember the pretty little baby you'll have. I know you can be very brave about this." Narcissa gently smoothed her daughter in law's hair and took her leave.

Lucius grabbed his son before he could bolt inside and whispered a few last minute things in his ear. "Remember that Mother and I are proud of you, Draco." Draco gave his father and mother a smile and walked in, closing the door behind himself.

Hermione was looking at him. He grinned broadly and went into the bathroom to undress. He came out in just his pants and closed the curtains with his wand so it was dark in the room, dark and safe. He slid naked under the covers and moved to embrace her.

Hermione's mind was nearly blank with terror and disgust and rage at what she's been forced to. When Malfoy hugged her, she let him, but when his head dropped to hers, as though for a kiss, she braced her hands on his chest and tried to push her off.

"No."

"Darling, this is what married people do."

"I'll scream if you try anything." She realised how hollow this sounded, how stupid. They were in his house, with his parents and friends, and even if she did scream, they'd likely not respond. Malfoy was staring at her.

"You'd do it with Weasley but not with me?"

"Yes."

Draco snorted. The day _Weasley _bested him the Great Wastes would bloom with flowers. "I've rights, you know. Marital rights."

"Everything else wasn't enough?"

"Hardly. It won't hurt, dearest, I swear."

"You've a taste for pushing me round, Malfoy. Is this different?"

"Married love is...not a thing to be taken by force." He didn't mention he couldn't. Not until she signalled she was ready and that she accepted his advances. On the other hand, his legal claim on being married to her wasn't complete until they'd consummated the union, which made his veela side more than a little twitchy.

Hermione said nothing. She was trying to find a place in herself where she felt safe. There wasn't one; every cell in her body feared his assault, which strengthened her urge to run away from him and find help somehow.

"It might help with the veela thing."

"Sorry?"

"If we've consummated it. Perhaps I'd be less aggressive if I was sure no other man would take you."

Hermione knew she shouldn't say it. Knew it like she knew her name, but couldn't help herself. "Oh? Why wouldn't they?"

"Because once a man's married a girl, and bedded her, they're wed forever. He's all sorts of legal recourse if someone did try to take her."

"What sorts?"

"Never you mind."

"Tell me."

"Not a chance. If I do, you'll try to find a way round them." Draco moved a bit closer and breathed her scent, the rich salt of her skin and the warmth of her breath. He wanted to put his head to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, her blood circling and plashing inside her.

He slid a hand down to her belly. Someday, he thought, someday I'll touch her here and it'll be hard. It'll move under my hand and I'll feel my son. Sons. He tried to slide his hand lower and she went rigid all over.

"I'm asking you nicely not to, Malfoy. I understand you could, but I'm asking that you not."

"What would it take to get you to permit me?"

"Nothing. I have absolutely no desire for that with you."

"Everyone has a price."

"Not me."

Draco was tenacious. "There's something, surely."

"I'm not a whore."

"Never said you were." Father had warned she might prove recalcitrant. He moved closer and nuzzled gently at her neck, even daring to nibble lightly. She didn't react.

Draco gently took one of her hot little hands in his bigger, colder one, and began to kiss it. When this, too, gained no response, he huffed and put her hand under the covers with the rest of her.

"This will happen sooner or later. It would be easiest if you'd just agree."

"Easiest for whom?"

"Everyone. I could still do all those things I was telling you about."

"Wouldn't it bother you, knowing that I hated everything you'd do to me?"

Draco considered. "Well, I suppose it would, a bit. But since I know this is the best way to make you safe, it would rather balance."

"The only person who ever wanted to steal me was you."

"I didn't steal you. You were mine to start with."

Hermione turned her face away. "That's not how I see it."

"We aren't going through this issue again." Draco pulled Hermione closer and kissed her neck again, going lower, feathering kisses on her collarbones and then thrust his hands gently into the mass of her hair.

"Hermione..."

"Stop, Malfoy!"

He stopped and then kissed both cheeks, her neck, her temples. "Just relax, dearest. It won't hurt." He reached over her and tried to roll her supine.

"No."

Draco kissed lower. "We're just cuddling, darling." His kisses slowly entered the valley of her breasts. Hermione shoved his head away. Draco went back to his pillow and studied her, filled with frustration and desire and affection and pleasure.

Hermione felt dirty. She scrubbed at herself with her hands, shivering in disgust. Draco was looking at her. "Fight this as hard as you'd like, I'll win in the end."

"You'll have to drag me every step of the way."

He tilted his head gently and then cupped her cheek, brushing hair from her eyes. "We'll see how you feel in a month, love. For right now, though, come here. I'd like to hold you."

When she didn't come, he leant over and tugged her into his bare chest. He thrilled at how good she felt against him, how wonderfully calm and contented he felt, like a large cat.

He guided her so that her head was right over his heart and his face was in her hair, breathing deeply. A flick of his wand closed the curtains and then cast a quick charm on the bedclothes to see they were cool and comfortable.

"Shall we read aloud, my pet?"

"Don't call me that."

"You are."

"I hate you."

Draco chuckled and rubbed her back. "I know, precious."

Her parents got the letter that same day, from someone purporting to be the boy's father. Anne Marie and Cyril had been expecting it, but that didn't help much. Nor did the gifts they'd been given, which sat, unpacked, in Hermione's room.

They in turn contacted Hermione's friends. Ron was staying with Harry while they tried to find a way to undo what had been done. Percy was there, too, with a pile of books.

Ron jumped up after he heard, and he threw down the goblet he'd been sipping pumpkin juice out of, which smashed on the floor. "Fuck me! Damn it to bloody shite!" He thrust his fist into the mantel and Percy jumped up, grabbed his brother's bleeding, broken hand, and healed with a savage flick of his wand.

"Ronald, if you ever do a thing like this again, I'll tell Mum and Dad."

Then he threw his arms about his younger brother and held him as he wept. Harry, looking slightly awkward, stood behind them, stomach clenching violently. He loved Hermione like a sister, and watching this happening to everyone was ripping him apart.

After the storm had passed, the three men sat down in silence. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"Not if they're married. Even if we somehow found a way to break the veela bond, he's legally her guardian now."

Sometimes friendship means to share helplessness, and despair, and that's what they did. It seemed unfair to Ron that the world had not stopped. Somewhere children were playing, and young people sported together, and everything was fine; at Grimmauld Place, three men sat in a dusty library and realised they were helpless, and decided that they would find a way to fix it anyway.

In Wiltshire, the bridal pair were also in silence. Not helpless, though. Hermione was determined that she would find a way to reverse this. And she'd be damned before she spread her legs for Malfoy, either.

Draco's thoughts were quite the opposite. He was silently contemplating the life he envisioned for them; as soon as they were able, they'd go on a tour of the Malfoy properties for at least a year, just time to enjoy one another and have fun. Once she'd fallen pregnant, they'd come back to the Manor for her confinement, and he'd start campaigning for his spot in the Ministry, or perhaps become a partner in one of the businesses that Father owned, either openly or covertly.

He closed his eyes, and with these pleasant thoughts, went to sleep. Hermione was wakeful. She waited until Malfoy was deeply asleep and got up, walking as softly as possible, and went to the writing desk. She wrote a quick note to her parents and another to the Weasleys, and wondered what the best way to send it would be.

She went into the lavatory and ran the tub to cover the noise. "Kreacher?"

The elf appeared, looking distinctly nervous. "Miss Hermione!" His eyes darted around but he still smiled, delighted to see her.

"Take this to Harry and don't tell anyone you saw me." The elf bowed and disappeared. Hermione climbed into the tub, mortified that the elf had seen her naked, but considering that one of Harry's complaints was Kreacher's continuing attempts to bathe him, she figured the elf hadn't minded.

She gasped as a sleepy looking blond head insinuated itself around the doorframe, followed by the rest of a very nude Malfoy. "Hermione? Love, this is what we have elves for."

"I'm just bathing, Malfoy."

"Draco. Yes, but the elves will do it for you. Just rest right there and I'll call Tibby." The elf was summoned, wailed about having disgraced them all, and set to work on Hermione, pouring in scented oils, scrubbing her hair, rubbing expensive smelling bath soap all over, and then helping her out of the tub.

Draco turned away and padded into the sleeping chamber, lazily donning his dressing gown. He smiled when Hermione came out, dressed in Mother's old nightdress, hair combed and loosely braided.

"They must've told Madam Malkin not to come today. Tomorrow, I promise, all right?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Does. Come sit on my lap, hmmm?"

Hermione shook her head. "We could play chess."

"Chess? Usually girls don't want to play that sort of game." Pansy had always preferred something a bit less cerebral. Hermione snorted and cocked her head at him.

"Well, I'd like to. Unless you don't think you can beat me."

"Nice try. Tibby, bring the chess board."

They set up the pieces and started the game. Hermione started. She felt like this was a fitting thing, in it's way; she'd made her own first move tonight. Draco, moved to counter her.

"You might move, my dear, but I'll shall always be there to check you."

"Unless I outmanoeuvre you." Hermione moved her piece and smiled slightly. She felt nervousness squirming in her guts. Did he know? How could he?

"I shouldn't count on that." Draco decisively moved her piece back and smiled just as brightly. Did she think she'd got him fooled? Perhaps this was for the best-let her have enough rope to hang herself with. Once. Then she'd see.

"No?"

"No."

At Grimmauld Place, Harry read this new letter to the two Weasleys. Percy raised his eyebrows and smiled slowly. "That's our Hermione."

Ron was jubilant. "Do we have a case?"

"We might. Let me...let me look into this, Ron. The veela issue..."

Nothing would scotch Ron's burst of hope. He called for Kreacher to run and get them all some butter beer to celebrate.

"You understand this doesn't mean the two of you could marry?"

"Course I do."

"Not for years. Maybe never. It's a shot in the dark at best."

"Merlin, Percy, always seeing the worst of everything."

Percy loved Ron dearly. He wanted so much to help him, and he'd do what he could to try and fix this. But the plan could hardly even be called that-he'd committed to doing research for something that would involve her simply finding a way from the Manor and then showing up there.

And Malfoy was spiteful. Percy didn't doubt he'd fight to keep her. Part of him wanted to tell Ron to forget it before somone got hurt. The law-marital and veela-made it clear whose needs came first.

But he wouldn't. If there was the slightest chance Hermione could be saved, he owed it her to try. And it might turn out for the better, he assured himself anxiously. Perhaps the Order...or Kingsley...or Hogwarts...somehow.

Percy drank his butterbeer and, borrowing Harry's huge library, went to work finding something-anything-that would help Hermione free herself from this mire.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**And my darling Countess Black**

**_"A wizard's exclusive right to his wife is held sacred, and all who interfere are thieves as well as abductors, seducers, or whatever the circumstances dictate they be called."_**

**_Atilius Goyle, 'On the thoery of Marital Law' 1745_**

**1 July, 1998**

Draco woke to feel her pressed against the wall again, shaking and sniffling, and he huffed a little. After everything that had happened, he didn't (precisely) expect her to be deeply in love with him (yet), but would it be too much for her to wake him up clinging to him, and put her arms about his neck for comfort?"

He reached over and rolled her on her back, and then on her other side, pressing the back of her head lightly. "Darling, shhhhh. What do you do when you've had a bad dream?"

Hermione didn't answer, but he didn't expect her to. She'd gone stiff, and her crying had tapered off to rapid blinks and head shakes. Draco huffed and grasped her chin. "Hermione, love?"

"I'm fine."

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply, finding the place in herself that Malfoy couldn't touch. She could hear him murmuring urgently in her ears and disregarded it.

The elf appeared with a cup of tea. Draco gently sat up and took the cup. "Took you long enough." Hermione was still cradled against his chest, and he held out the cup. She took it in her hand and tried to give it back to the elf. "I don't need any, thank you."

"Of course you do. It'll help you feel sleepy again."

"I'd rather sit up, if you wouldn't mind."

"I do mind, pet. You need your sleep."

Hermione silently drained the cup without another word and handed it back to the elf. The tisane made her feel dizzy and slightly sick to her stomach, but it did make her sleepy, and the oil of violets was supposed to lift her spirits.

"Good girl.' Draco eased them down on the bed started to rub her back. 'What made you cry, Hermione?"

Hermione looked away. "Mother Malfoy said a lady never bothers her husband with minor emotional upset."

He huffed. "Precious, it would never bother me to hear what's upsetting you." He held her tighter, wondering if perhaps he should take her for a walk tomorrow evening. The garden was incredibly lovely at night, especially at this time of year.

Hermione nodded silently and shut her eyes. "I appreciate that."

Draco sighed. "I hate how awfully unhappy you are. If there was something I could do to make you happy, you'd ask me, wouldn't you?"

She didn't open her eyes, and after a moment, her breathing had evened. Draco listened her to slow, soft breath, and wondered how he could feel so good when Hermione was so deeply mired in her own misery.

**One Week Earlier**:

In the end, Hermione decided to predicate her escape on Occam's razor, which is to say, she simply waited for events to align themselves and then, very quietly, called Kreacher. He could easily slip the wards, and did, and then took her back to Grimmauld place without another word.

Draco was in the shower at the time. He heard the 'pop' and thought nothing of it until Tibby, whom Hermione had sent to get pumpkin juice, appeared and found nothing. Screaming, she went to Draco. He dressed, and swearing vilely, ran for Father.

Hermione had never be so relieved as she was when she saw Harry's startled face. "Hermione?"

Then she was in his arms. "Harry!"

"Hermione?"

"RON!" She flew to his side and flung both arms about his neck. "I've missed you so!"

Ensconced in Sirius' old place, Percy showed them his law texts. "Unfortunately, nothing Malfoy's been doing is illegal. But' he held up a hand 'perhaps we can argue that his interpretation of the law is unnecessary mental cruelty, especially his implied threat against Crookshanks. That might be enough for the magistrate to order a temporary separation."

"What about the veela issue?"

Percy took a deep breath. "That's harder. Our best bet might be for Hermione to leave the country and go somewhere with no extradition agreement. Barbados, perhaps. We can take our time building a case and even if we fail, you'll still be safe."

"When can I leave?"

Percy looked sad; he was sad, because he didn't want Hermione to be forced to live her life in exile. But he also didn't want Malfoy to crush her spirit, so they had no choice. "Tonight wouldn't be too soon."

Harry calmly sent Kreacher to find the stash of coins he kept for emergencies. "We'll need to go quickly, then." Ron swallowed hard and nodded. He longed to touch her, but for both their safety, he could only look. Perhaps someday...

Lucius put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Draco, shhh. We'll find her. She can't have gone far."

"I'll kill him! I swear I'll tear out his heart!"

"No need, love. The law is on your side."

Draco began pacing back and forth, violently cursing under his breath. Lucius sighed hugely and went to contact the aurors.

The trace the aurors had put on Hermione pinged at eight thirty, when she tried to use the international Floo, heavily cloaked, to travel to Barbados. The fireplace promptly spit her back again, and within a few moments the 'pop!' of Apparation was heard all round the building, a nondescript looking Floo point in a corner of Diagon Alley.

"Madam Malfoy, come out now. Your husband's reported you missing." The lead auror didn't mention that Malfoy had specifically reported her 'absconded', not precisely missing. Hermione cursed.

"You two go. They'll charge you with helping me, otherwise."

"Certainly shall." The door swung open and Draco walked in, taking in his wife and the two others. He crooked a finger at Hermione. "Come away, love. If you don't fight me, I shan't maul them." Behind him, Lucius Malfoy, also smirking, nodded silently, prepared to restrain his son if the need should arise.

"She's not going anywhere with you, you bastard."

"Not what the law says. In fact, I have the right to demand you be imprisoned for helping her, don't I? Six months in Azkaban, that. Auror, take Weasley first, if you would."

"No!"

"No? Hermione, darling, these awful men tried to abduct you. I should be remiss not to see them punished."

"You know damned well they didn't."

Draco smiled and stepped closer, prepared to maim one of them-or both-to retrieve his wife. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"You, naturally, but I also want them punished for this." What he really wanted was to tear them to pieces with his bare hands, but Hermione might get upset if he did that.

"Is there somewhere we might talk this over?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"It was my fault, Malfoy. Don't blame them."

He smiled suddenly. It wasn't a nice smile. "Let's find a private place to talk, shall we?"

Ten minutes later, they'd been escorted to a private room in a nearby inn, a fleabag sort of place that bordered Knockturn Alley. The aurors guarding the door, Draco led them inside, putting Hermione against the wall so nothing could happen to her.

"Six months in Azkaban. I understand the screams are terrible." Draco beamed and took Hermione's hand in his, gently smoothing the flesh. She tried to pull away and he smiled harder.

"Your father'd know, Malfoy."

"Shut up." He turned snarling, and Hermione shook her head violently at Harry. "Stop it!"

Draco took a deep breath. "Hermione, darling, I'm very upset you ran off this way."

"I-I'm sure, but Malfoy, don't, don't take it out on them. They didn't-they didn't know I was going to-"

"Shhh. You're an appallingly bad liar, love. One of the things I treasure about you."

"If you really cared about her, Malfoy, you wouldn't make her miserable like this."

"Shut up, Weasley."

He turned to Hermione. "Precious, I could be persuaded to overlook this if you agreed to some things. Isn't that nice?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Mmm, mmm, mmm, let's not jump the wand. Let's start with an apology, shall we?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh dear, that won't do at all. How about 'I am so sorry, Draco, darling. I did a terrible thing and won't ever, ever do something this selfish and ungrateful again'."

Hermione, nails digging into her palms, said it through her teeth. Draco cupped her cheek. "Love, I'm not hearing the sincerity. Once more with feeling, now."

She finally did it to his satisfaction, and Draco smiled even more brightly. "There's my girl. Now, if you'll vow to do your utmost to be the perfect Pureblood wife, we'll forget this ever happened."

Hermione felt the floor slide from under her feet for a second and held the wall. "That's not possible, Malfoy. I'm a muggleborn, remember?"

He shook his head. "Of course I do, but Mother will teach you. And you'll put those lessons into practice, and never do something like this again. Agreed?"

"Don't, Hermione."

Ron was shaking with rage. "You bastard. You son of a bitch."

"Language, Weasley. Hermione? You've until I get to five to decide. One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three- a person with a criminal record can't get a job, you know- four, one thousand-"

He wasn't bluffing. She could feel it in her bones, and she wouldn't ruin their lives for her own sake. "And you won't do anything to them?"

"They walk free and you come home with me. That's all I want."

"And you won't do anything else you've threatened?"

"Correct. I shall count to five. One, two-"

Hermione shed the heavy cloak and stepped forward. "Fine."

"Weasley, be a dear and bind us."

"Get fucked."

'"Mmm, temper, temper. Auror Dawlish? I wish to press charges, after all."

"But you said-"

"Last chance, Weasley."

"Do it, Ron!"

"Hermione..."

"Please!"

Ron raised his wand. "Do you, Hermione Gr-Malfoy, vow to be the best possible wife you can to Draco Malfoy?"

"I do."

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow not to pursue charges in this matter?"

"I do."

"And be the husband Hermione deserves?"

Draco laughed. "Count on it, Weasley. I do."

He took Hermione's hand. "Now, darling, say goodbye to the gentlemen, we shan't see them again."

Hermione turned and whispered desperate goodbyes to her best friends. Draco was gently tugging her arm. Ron could say nothing-he only watched, shaking his head with despair, and when they were gone, he dropped his head into his hands and wept.

They went directly upstairs, past the deeply worried Narcissa and the smirking Lucius. He didn't say anything until they were in the bedroom. He called for Tibby, who hadn't stopped screaming and yowling since she'd realised young Madam somehow escaped her loving, watchful eyes.

"Tibby, stop that screeching and undress my wife. Don't bother with the nightdress, just slide her under."

"Malfoy, I-"

"Get into bed."

She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Violence, perhaps. Terrible rage, certainly. Malfoy seemed more peeved than anything, as though Hermione had spilt ink on his favourite robes or something like that.

He stripped to his pants and snuffed the light before he climbed under with her, spelling the bed curtains round them tightly, blocking everything from them, so they could concentrate solely on what was going on.

Draco was more than a little surprised at his own actions, actually. He'd fully expected to give his wife a long and satisfying bawling out that would leave her in floods of penitent tears and himself feeling vindicated and ready to forgive.

Instead, his main feeling was a sort of wonderful relief. Hermione was safe, she was undefiled, and they'd already fixed the house to see that this couldn't happen again. But she was strangely tense and didn't seem at all relieved to be home again.

Hermione was rigid. She would fight him, and once she couldn't fight him anymore, she'd do her best to make the experience as joyless as possible for him. He was looking at her, head tilted, and said finally 'What the hell was that?"

"I hate you."

"Not really an answer, but I suppose it's a start." He moved closer to her. Every time he got closer, she pulled back, until her back was to the wall. She wasn't panicked, which was wonderful-she felt safe enough to know she wouldn't be hurt.

He finally succeeded in getting her in his arms. She was very warm, he noticed, with a faint smell of sweat, which he attributed to fear. He dropped his face into her hair and smelt.

"Stop touching me."

"No."

Hermione tried to squirm free but he tightened his grip on her. "Go on, Hermione."

"Go on, what?"

"Have a fit. Kick and scream and cry all you like and I still shan't let go."

Hermione just looked at him. "What?"

"You heard me. I want you calm enough to be reasoned with, and right now you aren't. So have a crying jag or whatever and then let's talk this out."

His sheer tone was infuriating. He was talking to her like he would a fussy child. She swallowed and said, very coolly "Let's talk now, Malfoy."

"Draco, dear heart. Did you really think you'd get away with it?"

"Yes." Hermione was looking past him, at a point just over his shoulder. Draco took her face in his hand and held her chin so she had to look him in the eyes as they talked.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

"I've dealt with worse odds."

He nodded slowly. "True. Still, you caused a good deal of trouble tonight. I expect an apology to Mother and Father tomorrow. And of course, you're on restriction again."

Hermione made herself look him in the eye, but she was busy finding a place in herself he couldn't touch. She drew ever deeper, until, like the princess in a fairy story, she was in a windowless tower, with the drawbridge drawn up and the door barred with iron.

Now that he'd reassured himself that Hermione was fine, Draco could enjoy what they were doing. He rubbed against her lightly, revelling in her warm, soft skin on his, and how little she was, and how nicely formed. She wasn't reacting to his attentions; quite the opposite, she was staring blankly into space.

"Stop it, Hermione."

"Stop what?"

Draco didn't know how to explain. Stop not fighting me? Stop not crying and shouting? He finally hit on 'You're ignoring me."

"Yes."

"Well, stop. It's rude. And unnecessary."

Hermione made herself bring her eyes to a point next to his neck. "What would you have me do?"

He shrugged. 'Love me. Tell me you're sorry. Cry on my shoulder and ask me to rock you. Anything but this, it's wretched.'

"Act like you notice my presence, for one. And tell me what you feel."

Hermione rolled on her side and nestled into her pillow, which smelt funny-the elves here used some perfumy herb to rinse everything, and it made the bed feel foreign.

"I don't feel anything at the moment."

"Bollocks. You have to be feeling something."

She said nothing. Draco spooned her and nuzzled at the back of her neck. "I think I'll take a bath with you tonight. Won't that feel nice?"

"I'd prefer to bathe alone."

"I'd prefer a wife who'll talk to me."

"Talk about what, Malfoy? You got what you wanted. Do you have to rub it in, too?"

Draco tugged her closer and said nothing for a moment. "If it's the only way for you to understand, I do."

"Understand what, Malfoy?"

His response was to kiss her neck again, very lightly. "That this is how it is now, and nothing anyone can do will change that. Make the best of it, hmmm?"

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it? I loved Parkinson, you know."

Hermione swallowed and looked away a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. You're the only woman I want, now." He said it as casually as he would express a preference for chocolate rather than vanilla ice cream. Hermione felt her eyes sting painfully.

"I don't-I don't feel that way."

"You will." He smoothed her hair and then lightly pressed his lips to her pulse.

**1 July (again):**

Narcissa smiled to see her daughter in law. "Darling, come in." She rose and gave the girl a hug, which Hermione returned almost apathetically. "Good morning, Mother."

Narcissa motioned her to sit down. "Draco seems to think we ought to increase your oil of violets, love. What do you think?"

Hermione was looking at her hands. "I'm sure I feel fine."

Narcissa took her hand gently. "We want very much for you to be happy."

"Thank you."

Narcissa, having given Hermione a book of social customs to look over, quietly slipped out, leaving her maid Lemmy to watch the girl. Her husband was in his study, reading over some accounts.

"Darling?"

"Hello, Narcissa." Lucius grinned and stood to embrace his wife. "You look radiant today."

"Thank you."

"How is our daughter in law?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Not well. Very quiet, very...' she motioned to try to indicate what she meant. She couldn't. Lucius nodded. "Draco is terribly concerned. And I rather think he's right to be."

"Is he too hard on her?"

Lucius frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. Part of me thinks her behaviour indicates strong discipline is needed, but...she's...at any rate, I might have a solution."

"Oh?"

He told her, and she was pleased.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

_**"A wizard's home is his castle, and he is the head of it. The witch is the heart, the vital organs. The wizard conceives ways for the parts to move all in harmony, but the witch manages them and sees to the needs of every part."**_

_**-De Familia**_

Draco set down his cup. "You're in earnest, Father?"

"Quite. It would be good to finally get some use out of the place, I daresay. And it would give you children some time to get used to...things." He looked away and Draco felt his cheeks burn. Sometimes it rankled that he'd a wife he'd yet to enjoy, but in the balance, perhaps it was better they not complicate things with that right now.

"And' said Narcissa, cheerfully nibbling a scone 'Father and I could visit frequently to see everything was going according to plan." She didn't especially want Draco and his wife to go away, but if it would encourage them to do something besides argue, she was all for it.

"Hermione might like that. She likes old things."

"Yes. Do go and ask her. I wish she'd taken tea with us."

Narcissa nodded. "We mustn't push too hard. Poor child's enough to deal with."

Draco, after asking to be excused, rose and quickly walked to his-their-rooms. Hermione was listlessly picking at some sweetmeats and pretending to read a book of poems Draco had deemed most suitable.

"Darling?"

"Hello."

"I've some exciting news. We're going to Wales."

"Wales?"

"Yes. Father's decided we're to open the old family estates there, and you and I will go and oversee it."

"Oh." Hermione set down the plate of food and nodded. "I'll ask Tibby to pack for me."

Draco came and sat perched on the arm of her chair. "Aren't you excited, precious?"

"Not really."

He pretended not to hear. "We'll be there until Christmas at the earliest. It will be quite rustic, at least at first. Can you handle that? We'll have elves, of course, no need to worry."

Hermione nodded again. "It will be fine."

Draco pulled her up and kissed her lightly on the mouth. She neither hindered him nor, especially, encouraged him. "And there's quite a library there, I'm given to understand."

Hermione's interest was piqued, as he'd meant it to be. Her eyes had a spark of life in them. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Hypatos Black was quite a renowned collector of the bizarre. Probably find all sorts of strange specimens and whatnot."

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow after dinner."

At supper, Narcissa was teary eyed. "I can't believe my baby is going to Wales."

"Mother, really." Draco blushed and looked at his wife, wishing she'd take the bait and tease him. She poked her fish and said nothing.

For the first time in ages, Hermione's mind was thinking of something that held the promise of enjoyment. Books in runes...books in middle English...books written by quill in abbeys a thousand years passed...it was all she could do not to rub her hands together with glee.

That night in bed, Draco looked at his wife, who was lying with her head on his chest as he'd asked her to. Having finally reassured the veela part that they were safe physically, Draco was finding in himself a strong, persistent urge to bond emotionally as well.

"Are you very tired, love, or would you rather cuddle and chat?" He wanted it to be the second; it would be a little like she'd asked him for affection, wouldn't it, if she didn't reject the offer?

"If you'd like to talk, we can."

He smiled and gently kneaded her shoulder for a moment. "I can't wait to explore, can you? Everything should still be usable, mostly. Probably smell musty, though."

Hermione half lifted her head. "Truly?"

"Of course. Noble families in those days had many residences, and when they tired of one, they put everything in stasis and came to another. We might even find some personal effects."

Hermione actually smiled a little. "That's incredible."

"Mmm, I don't relish that part. I've no urge to spend time rooting through my great great-and so on- grandfather's small clothes."

Hermione snorted despite herself. Counting it as a small victory, Draco spelled the lights down. "Would you like something to help you sleep?"

"I'll be all right." He mentally huffed, but settled for giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I shan't sleep until you do, precious. Just let yourself drift off."

Madam Malkin finally came at eleven AM, and Hermione, who loathed shopping of any sort, submitted to being poked and pricked and made to stand still while Narcissa and the seamstress witch debated cut, style and colour. She was slightly in awe of the sheer number of garments being made, which was possibly more clothes than she'd ever had in her life, combined.

"And the cobbler is coming to see to shoes. Is there anything you think you might need, darling?"

"No, Mother."

Narcissa nodded. "And you say it will be done in three days?"

"Possibly sooner. My elves are very skilled." The witch bowed herself out. Hermione sat down, relieved, until the cobbler came and took her measurements for several pairs of shoes, with very low heels and ties across the top.

"And a few pairs for dress, but it isn't as though you'll need them in Wales, my love, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, Mother."

They left after the noon meal. Draco embraced his mother, shook his father's hand, and helped Hermione into the carriage that Lucius had ordered the gardener to bring round, seeing as the Floo system was less than two hundred years old. Directed purely by house elf magic, and driven by the tireless Ridgey, it would be their primary source of transportation, at least until the Floo worked.

During the whole long trip, neither said very much. Hermione was sunk into her own thoughts, and Draco was watching her, and wondering what they would find. Father had the whole place warded tightly not two days previous, but Draco knew he'd be compelled to entirely re-ward everything, aside from the grounds and other obvious points of potential hazard.

They finally alighted at a huge and weather tossed castle, crouching on the edge of a cliff like a bird of prey. One side faced the sea, and presented a sheer drop of nearly a thousand metres; the other side was as forbidding, and almost as impregnable. Draco blessed Father for having chosen so well.

Ridgey parked them in the courtyard and the elves appeared, bowing and sobbing. They had ten, a decent enough skeleton staff, at least until Mother helped Hermione to understand the finer points of household management and Hermione decided they needed more.

Included in that number was a lady's maid, a gift from Mother to Hermione. It could be told from the others by it's finer pillowcase, and the look of mad devotion gleaming in it's huge eyes.

"Hello, everyone." Hermione pulled herself up straight and forced herself to smile. Just because she was unhappy did not mean others should have to be. "Thank you all for meeting us."

The elves wailed louder. Draco squeezed his wife's arm and said "Enough! Introduce yourselves, and be quick about it."

They did, still weeping, and Hermione moved down the line, greeting each by name and accepting their sobbed promises of eternal devotion. Draco simply nodded, wishing they were inside and not wasting time with silly formalities.

"We is being Leesy. We is excited to be serving a Madam again."

"Who did you serve previously?"

"Madam Euphemia Mink of Sheffield, Master."

"Did she die?"

The elf nodded and wiped her eyes on her pillowcase. "She was being 118."

"Ah. Childless, I presume, which is why Mother acquired you."

"Yes, Master." Draco nodded indifferently, pleased by the elf's bona fides, and knowing Mother would never give Hermione a bad elf. "Serve my wife well or face the consequences."

"There's no need to threaten, Malfoy. I'm sure Leesy and I will get along splendidly." Hermione smiled at her new maid, appalled she could actually say that, and let herself be led into a dust laden hall.

The house keeper elf, Rinky, ceremonially handed Hermione a ring of keys. "These is being Madam's now. Madam is chatelaine of this house and everything being within."

Hermione nodded and put the keys in her little pocketbook. "May we see the master bedroom now?"

The master bedroom was in the heart of the keep, overlooking the sea, high enough to thrill Draco to his bones. "Merlin, what a view." Below them, spray danced and flew and gulls shrieked.

"Rinky, would you please ask your helpers to clean this room first? And undo the stasis spells so we can check the bedding?" Sniffling, Rinky did just that, and within a few moments, there was a fire lit in the grate and elves were shaking out the heavy bed robes and airing the curtains.

Hermione watched them a moment and then calmly turned to Draco. "It would be helpful to have my wand back."

"We'll see. For right now, direct the elves to do whatever you'd like."

She nodded. "Peasy- is that right?-where's the lavatory?"

The elf pointed a dark, close room in the corner. "That is being chamber of ease."

Draco's eyebrows met his forehead. "No indoor plumbing, then."

"No, Master."

"Would you please see that it's cleaned? I should like to avail myself of it." Hermione had seen enough diagrams of castles to know that the room would likely be a hole cut into a stone bench, with a pipe which led directly to the ocean to prevent invaders from climbing inside.

"You really intend to use that?"

"There's nowhere else."

"True. I'd hoped this castle had something like a normal lavatory. Some wizarding castles had early prototypes, when they closed this place."

"When was that?"

"1538. I don't know why."

The elves soon had the room sparkling, and Hermione, after using the dark, cold chamber of ease, came back out and sat on the huge bench near the fire, grateful Narcissa had the foresight to send toilet paper.

"What shall we do?"

"I'm going to check the wards. You sit here' he pointed to the bed 'and write a list of what we need. We'll send Phoebe for it." Draco's eagle owl had been brought, of course, and he meant to go and visit her first chance.

"Is there anything you need?"

Draco was delighted she'd asked such a wifely question without prompting. "No, my darling, but thank you for asking. Leesy' the elf turned and looked at him humbly 'help Madam remember what all a lady needs. Price is no object, understand?"

As Draco was warding every inch of their quarters, Hermione obediently sat. The beds had been warmth charmed by the last elves to clean them- it gave the creepy impression that the previous inhabitants had just left, and would return anon to climb back under.

"Madam is needing combs for hair."

" I brought a set. What about cleaning supplies? Is there enough?"

Leesy waved her hand. "For Rinky to be worrying. Is Madam having face powder? Rouge?"

"I don't need any. What about wood for the fires?"

"Mistress Narcissa is sending everything like that. Cologne water?"

"That's not important right now.' Unfortunately, she couldn't think of any other good reasons to avoid this topic, as Narcissa had sent ample supplies to get them started.

Leesy frowned. "Master is saying-"

"I heard what he said. Let's make a game of it. When he returns, let's see what we already have here. I'll bet there's plenty of usable things lying round."

Leesy smiled, in her element. "Madam is needing pomade for hair, and..."

Draco took nearly an hour and deemed the results barely adequate. But it would have to do, because he wanted desperately to get back to his wife and see what she was doing. He found her resting in their enormous bed, which put the old one to shame. She sat up when she saw him and handed him the list.

"I don't think I need half of this, but Leesy's been quite insistent."

Leesy nodded solemnly. "Leesy is knowing these things."

Draco nodded. "Quite. What shall we do now?"

"Have a scavenger hunt."

"Sorry?"

"Before we send this, Leesy and I are going to have a scavenger hunt to see what we can find here first. If you don't mind."

"You needn't, my pet. We can afford to buy you new."

"I know. But this might be fun."

Draco helped her up. "Let's start, then.

The first step was the big wardrobe in their own room. The elves pulled everything out. Hermione picked up a random garment and held it to herself. It was a deep brown velvet, with hanging sleeves, and it looked like something Holbein had painted.

"Amazing. It still smells of lavender, even."

Draco bent and smelt it. "Does. What are we looking for?"

"Hair combs, things of that nature." Hermione picked up another dress, a heavy pearl grey trimmed in fur. She rubbed the fur to her cheek, thinking of dear grumbly Crookshanks, and sighed.

After the clothes had been put aside, they found several cauls, nets, and other things they could use to bind Hermione's hair to Leesy's satisfaction. They also found handkerchiefs, gloves, a pomander of chased silver, and a vinigrette in filigree.

" I wonder why all this was left."

"They meant to come back for it, perhaps."

Every room was the same. It seemed eerily as though the people would return any moments-beds, shimmering in stasis, were yet turned down. In the great hall, the table was set with silver plate. Even the candles, five hundred years old but perfectly usable, were there, waiting for a match.

"I should think we'll find the answer in the library."

Hermione nodded. "What would you like for dinner?"

"Supper, precious. Mother sent us a goose. I shouldn't mind goose and parsnips in wine, myself."

"All right."

As their food cooked, they counted the items they'd found in their search. Combs, stockings, razors for Draco, ribbons, jewellery of all sorts, much of it fairly average but a few good goblin made pieces. Books galore, inkwells, buttons, all the detritus of life which never really changes.

"Why didn't anyone open this place up in all that time?"

"These sort of castles fell out of vogue, and indoor plumbing means that places didn't start to smell like they did before."

They ate goose and parsnips in near silence and drank some of the strong cider which had lain for all that time in the cellar. It tasted sharp and sweet and wonderful. The larder, Rinky reported, was quite full. It was best not to eat the cheeses and such, but there was ale, wine, cider, elderflower cordial, and even lavender water for Hermione to sprinkle on herself.

In the cool, damp dark, they undressed and slid under the heavy selkie robes. They found one another in the darkness and Draco took her in his arms, as he did every night.

He thought perhaps the new surroundings would encourage his wife to open up, but she didn't. Her breathing reminded him of the steady whoosh of the tide.

Hermione went to sleep delighted to have something to do, and contemplating the mystery at hand-why had a castle full of people left everything and never returned?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**A few notes: **

**Dinner used to mean lunch.**

**Hippocras is spiced wine.**

**House Elves: For when your Mother's in Law's constant prying just isn't enough.(tm)**

_"In the act of marital love, a wizard and witch are joined as one in fact as well as fact of law."_

_Menelaus Lestrange, 'Commentaries on the Act of Love'._

The elves decided they'd finally had enough after dinner, where Lirry (the cook) served mutton collops with a salad of violets and rosebuds, roast artichoke pie with cheek of cod, and, for lasts, a pudding rich with dates and covered in spiced wine sauce.

Hermione, cheeks flushed with exertion, was surprised to find she had an appetite. She ate most of her mutton and a good deal of pie. Behind her, Leesy was hovering, ready to fetch whatever she required. Draco was smiling slightly, pleased beyond words his wife was actually eating.

In the past weeks, since Hermione's life had been upended, she'd felt herself moving in a cloud of cotton wool. All the colour had gone, as though the world was all in shades of grey and blue. Her few hours of freedom had been better, but the colours were the acid brights of nightmare.

But she'd woken up today with something she'd not had in all that time: a sense of purpose. She'd risen with the sun, standing naked in the window a moment, until Leesy appeared and draped her in a wrapper. Malfoy rolled over and grumbled sleepily. "Hermione?"

"Go back to sleep."

He rubbed his eyes and sat. "What's the matter, precious?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to get up." Hermione turned from the window, and Draco felt his heart clench as he saw her, limned by the sun, hair gleaming, skin caressed by light.

"Come back to bed."

She walked back to the bed but didn't undress. "I can't sleep any more."

"Did you have a bad dream, love?"

"No. Just enough sleep." He cupped her face lightly and brushed kisses on her cheek.

"Hmm, perhaps we should tire you out again, then. No need for us to be awake this early."

She stripped the wrapper off and laid down. "I'm sure I'm fine."

"I'm not. _Is_ something the matter?"

"No." Draco rolled to look out the window. The waves were rolling against the rocks and he could smell a hint of salt in the air. Why, then, was he so unhappy?

"You mustn't shut yourself off, Hermione."

"I'm not."

He rolled back to face her. "Are. You've not said fifty words about your feelings since we got here."

"I'm not the sort."

"Every woman is the sort." What else would a woman talk about? Hermione was very bright, but she couldn't escape her natural destiny, no more than anyone else can. He stretched and yawned quietly, feeling the compulsion to continue warding fight his compulsion to bond with his mate.

"Darling?"

"Hmmm?'

"You really don't feel anything about having moved here?"

She shrugged. "I don't know why you're asking. You made the choice and I swore to do what you want."

He frowned. "Yes, but I also asked you to tell me how I could help you feel happier. Are you?"

"I like the idea of doing something useful."

It was a start. "You aren't an elf, love. You needn't work for the sake of it."

Hermione made herself breathe deeply. "M-Draco, I understand what you're saying, but I feel like all I've done the past few weeks is sit. I'd like to feel a sense of accomplishment again."

"Then I'd imagine you'd like to get up?"

"Please."

Leesy brought the tub into the room and filled it as Hermione and Draco rose. Having failed at his first objective, he slipped into his clothes and saw the second, checking the wards. He'd bathe later, in the small chamber attached to their bedroom so Hermione could have a few moments to do her toilette.

Hermione sat down, a shade awkwardly, in the huge copper tub. Leesy did as the elf at Malfoy Manor always had, rubbing her with oils, washing her hair and patting her dry, finishing with a sprinkle of lavender water.

Dressed, hair in a plain net for the day's work, Hermione met Draco as he paced the hall, muttering to himself as he rechecked one of the doors to the kitchens.

"Draco?"

"Precious! You smell divine." He kissed her properly and they sat down to a quick breakfast before they tackled the first tasks of the day. Leaving Hermione in the hall talking to the house keeper, Draco went to start warding the rest of the house.

Hermione had asked the elves to make an inventory of what was usable, and they had. She scanned the list and made notations here and there, approved the day's menu with Lirry and then decided that the thing to do was start from the top down.

Their paths didn't meet again until just before dinner. They'd both decided to visit the library, which was located in tower, just below the place where the owls would nest. Phoebe was quite pleased with her new accommodations, and hooted approvingly at Draco when he went to give her some crusts and a pat.

He went on a whim to the library and found his wife there, directing the elves to clean the room and find furniture. "A few armchairs, please, and some tables. We'll see about a desk and chair later."

"Some place." And it was. The dry shelves rose above Draco's head, to say nothing of Hermione's. Many of them were honeycombs, indicating that the contents were scrolls rather than bound codices.

"Yes."

"Hypatos Black had fifty scribes working for him, they say."

"Really?"

"Quite. You've not stumbled on his curios yet?"

"No. You?"

Draco shook his head. "Most of the living areas are warded, though. Still have to do the dungeons and the cellars, but all in all, it's been a most productive day."

"It isn't over yet. I'm nearly ready to send that list out."

"Oh?" He came a bit closer and pulled her against him for a hug. "That's wonderful, precious. I'd like a nap this afternoon, by the way. We'll pull the curtains and I'll read you to sleep, hmmm?"

Hermione nodded. She couldn't bear the thought of wasting another endless block of time lying motionless while Malfoy dozed beside her. She was beginning to understand why they called them the idle rich.

The elves had made themselves scare when the master came in. They'd had a meeting after both humans were asleep, and group consensus, as much as there can be between elves, was that Master and Madam needed gentle encouragement to form a closer relationship. Especially, to mate, so they could provide the elves with a baby to love and spoil relentlessly.

Leesy, hovering above them, quite invisible, waited expectantly for Madam to signal her willingness to Master so they could go and get on with the baby making. Madam, rather than doing that, tolerated his touch a moment and then stepped back.

"After, I'd like to explore the dungeons, wouldn't you?"

Draco's lip curled. "Dungeons are nasty places, precious. Wouldn't you rather stay here, where it's nice and dry and clean?"

"If you'd prefer it." Hermione loathed that she'd been forced to make a vow that relegated her to mealy mouthed compliancy, but she had, and she'd do her bit to uphold it.

Draco mentally weighed the likelihood of rats and spiders versus Hermione's apparent enthusiasm for that sort of thing. "I suppose if I were with you, it should be all right. But if I think you're afraid, we're coming straight back above stairs, understand?"

Hermione actually smiled a little. "I'd like that. To explore, I mean."

Draco's heart soared! He'd made her happy! He felt a bone deep, animal contentment in his body, as though he were immersed in some liquid that covered every inch of his person. He could, he thought, grow to want to feel this way much more frequently. Every day, perhaps.

Leesy felt sure mating would follow. She was already mentally preparing for Madam's confinement when that idiot Rinky popped in. "Dinner is being served, Master, Madam." The humans turned and walked to the hall.

Leesy popped into view as well. "Stupid! They is being mating soon!"

Rinky looked patient. "Wizards and witches is being in bed to be mating, idiot!"

"Not always! Sometimes humans is using divans!"

"Pah!" With that, Rinky Apparated smartly to the hall to serve and Leesy, vowing revenge, followed.

Lirry, having directed the meeting last night, had done her bit by creating a meal rich in foods with aphrodisiac qualities. She fully anticipated that the repast would lead to an explosion of, to say the least, good feeling between the two humans.

"Is not working!" Leesy carped when she was sent to get some more pepper for the pie. Lirry frowned and then, almost as quickly, smiled. "We is having just the answer."

A few minutes later, Draco was surprised when two glassess of wine appeared, steaming warmly and smelling of hot cinnamon and grains of paradise. "Lirry is making hippocras for Master and Madam' explained the elf, bowing.

Hermione took hers and sipped. It was delicious. She waited until the elf was gone and set it down. "I don't drink much wine."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You should. It'll help you sleep this afternoon." He hoped a warm belly and the soft darkness of bed might help her to feel relaxed in his presence; perhaps she'd put her arms about his neck, or ask for a backrub?

Hermione, hearing the order in his voice, obediently sipped a bit more. The spices gave the wine a rich, buttery quality that almost took away the astringency that normally turned her off wine.

They were small glasses, the wine being quite rich, and after a few moments they'd finished. Draco rose and offered her his arm to escort them to bed. Hermione took it, Narcissa having told her very firmly to accept help whenever it was offered, and they went to their rooms.

Leesy was waiting to undress Madam, and hopefully sprinkled her with a bit of lavender water to encourage mating. Surely, between all of those factors, she'd have a baby to care for in no time. She was interviewing nurse elves in her head when Hermione slid under the bed robes and into her place near Draco.

"What shall we read, my love?"

"Whatever you'd like, Draco."

Draco was torn. He liked books about pirates and action and adventure, but that was hardly suitable fare for his wife. He wanted her calm, after all, and it would only get her worked up, hearing about something like that. And anyway, there could be frightening situations that would disturb her sleep.

"How about more of Mr. Llewyllen's poetry?"

If Hermione had to hear one more insipid word about flowers and sunrises she would scream. "I'd prefer something a bit more...substantial."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Should've known you'd say that. What would you suggest?"

"I could send for some muggle books from my parents."

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to refuse out of hand. "What sort of muggle books?"

"Fiction. Stories. There's some I think you'd quite like."

"We'll see. For right now, let's just relax, hmmm?"

She nodded, feeling better at having been not exactly rebuffed. "The cook is very good."

"Yes. Mother got the elves from an estate sale. I think they all belonged to that Madam Mink."

Hermione said nothing. She couldn't quite reconcile the knowledge of the unhappy lot of most house elves with the knowledge that she, herself, know owned ten of them. Well, Draco owned them, but they served her, and that was just as bad.

"Do you like your maid?"

"Leesy? She's very nice."

" I think she'll work out well." Draco was pleased his wife had someone to rely on to help her with things. That pleased him to no end. Hermione was blinking sleepily.

"Precious? Are you tired?"

She nodded. "A bit." Surprisingly, she was. Snuggling her head down onto the pillow, Hermione found herself glad of the soft swansdown bed and the warm selkie robes, which the elves had turned fur side in.

Hermione was drifting warmly in the first stages of sleep. He held her closer and began to smooth her hair. "I daresay that wine was a good choice."

She didn't answer. Draco rested his head on his pillow, stuffed full of delicious food and wishing, not for the first or the thousandth time, that Hermione enjoyed his embraces. He wished she would open her eyes and tell him she was ready, that she knew he'd never hurt her. It would be dreadfully forward, but in the privacy of their bed, who'd know but him?

He had a throbbing erection he couldn't take care, right at the moment. His hand strayed downward, but then something occurred to him. When was the last time this had happened? That he'd woken with an erection, or had one at all? He couldn't remember.

At a purely animal level, it all made a kind of sense. His mate was unreceptive, and that meant there was no need for him to waste energy on it. But she was no more receptive than she'd been. So why... then he noticed her smell, that same metallic warm salt smell.

In her sleep, Hermione murmured and Draco instinctively held her tighter. "Shhhh, my pet. Just a bad dream." He wondered if they ought to see about treatment for her strange malaise. Mother's oil of violets and tisanes were helpful for most things, but perhaps this was a more difficult case.

He'd see to it tomorrow. He knew he'd have to mate with her soon. He'd done admirably in resisting his impulses, but their mere safety could prove a sort of undoing if it meant he wouldn't be able to resist his impulses any longer.

Something to help her mood would be the best solution. If she were in better spirits, she'd necessarily be more receptive to him. To risk coercing her-or even just wearing her down-would damage the small emotional bonds they'd already forged. And a love potion would simply make her resent him.

Draco let her nap over an hour. He found he couldn't sleep. When she woke, Draco waited until she was fully awake before, very calmly, he explained what had happened when she slept.

Hermione blanched. "You mean you might..."

Draco instantly reassured her. "I'd never want to hurt you, my angel. But I'm afraid if I don't...establish a claim...to you soon..." Hermione swallowed hard. She hated the idea of sharing herself with Malfoy. _Hated_ it. But she hated the idea of having him take it by force more.

She sat up on her heels and slid her nightdress over her head and then laid back down. "Have you ever..."

"No. What do I..."

As clinically as possible, Hermione explained. Draco found himself atop her, gently parting her legs. "Darling? Are you all right?"

"Fine. You?" She could do this. She could. She could. Hermione prepared herself to be brave, endure what had to be endured and, as Narcissa was constantly counselling her, to be cheerful after. Well, not cheerful, but she respected that Malfoy had told her the truth.

He slid in as slowly as possible to keep from hurting her. It stung-Hermione arched and forced herself not to fight him. Draco did his best to ease the process, kissing her neck, whispering promises into her hair, praising her beauty and gentleness and kindness in a sort of low constant monologue designed to distract her from the unpleasant necessity of coitus.

The whole thing took only a few minutes. It was rather a let down. Draco had expected something explosive, something magical, and what he'd got was a few sticky minutes of something his wife obviously didn't care for.

As soon as he'd done, he stopped and gently disentangled himself. Father had warned him that ladies didn't have a taste for these things, and especially, that the first few times were most disturbing, but he'd expected tears and wailing, not what Hermione was doing now. Which was nothing. She was lying very still, staring at a point on the ceiling, hardly even breathing.

Hermione had got quite adept at finding her internal keep, the place no one can touch, and she was there now. The first pain had faded to a sort of dull, achy pounding, and she was vaguely aware that Malfoy had finished. Her thighs were wet.

"Darling? Talk to me, Hermione. Are you all right?"

"Fine. You?"

"Yes. Thank you, precious. I feel ever so much better." He nuzzled her neck and wondered what he should get her as a reward for enduring that. A necklace? Some earrings?

Hermione felt separated from herself. She'd agreed to it to spare herself the terror and pain of being attacked by an animal. Why did she feel dirty, then? Had she whored herself? Had she betrayed...whom?

"Darling? Talk to me. What do you need? Shall I call Mother to come and sit with you?" Draco rubbed her hand in both of his, crooning softly. Tears would have been a hell of a lot easier to cope with than this. Tears could be soothed, fears gently jollied away, but this sort of...whatever this was, he couldn't fix.

"No. No, I'm all right. Shall we go?"

"Go where?"

"Exploring. We're going to the dungeons, is that right?"

"I...are you sure you're well enough? Wouldn't you rather rest?"

Hermione shook her head. "No! I mean, I'd rather get up. If you don't mind."

"No, of course not. But if you should...change your mind, we'll come straight back, love. All right?"

Hermione stood. "Leesy? I'd like a bath, please."

"As would I. Minky' Draco called his valet 'I should like a bath as well."

Draco sank into the water of his tub and sighed. He ought to have felt exultant, delighted. And part of him did. But the other part longed for Hermione to...what? Be happy? Be present for him? Want him to touch her, make love to her?

Hermione let the elf sponge her clean, making a soft, low humming noise. Leesy was, in many ways, the most disturbed of any of them. She'd never seen such joyless, strangely fraught behaviour after something experience told her should be a happy, laughing sort of event.

The elf beamed happily as she ordered one of the house maids to bring in the long boxes from Madam Malkin's and the cobbler. This would surely make Madam's mood a bit brighter. She selected a soft, very light wool gown in a deep blue, with robes in navy and sturdy little leather shoes for Madam to wear on her extended tour of the castle.

Strangely, Madam didn't seem any more cheerful for her pretty new things. Draco came out and complemented his wife's new things. Leesy had braided and pinned her hair, and even fastened a goblin made necklace about her neck.

Hermione smiled wanly. "Thank you. Shall we go?"

On his Hermione, thought Draco, would ever be more excited about dirty old dungeons than new clothes and jewellery. But he offered her his arm and off they went, down, down, into the belly of the castle that was their home now.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

_Resolved: By order of the Wizengamot, a wife's correspondence with third parties does not constitute a protected communication, as no wife should be party to any activity her spouse would find objectionable, and the reading of personal mail would verify the harmlessness of such activities._

_Klytemnestra Carter vs. Alphonsus Carter, 1846_

Draco led them down the deep and winding stairs, into the belly of the castle. He was careful to see that Hermione's little feet didn't trip, holding her tightly in case she should stumble. He had to laugh at the look on her face: determined and not at all afraid, quite a good attempt to convince him that she wasn't scared.

She wasn't scared. Not at all, and why should she? Having fought Death Eaters, ridden a dragon, and lived with Malfoy without killing him, why should she shriek at a mere rat? She did rather wish Malfoy wasn't holding her so hard, though-she felt like a kitten being held by a too eager child.

Draco's senses were flaring wildly. He found that every noise attracted his attention and that every smell made him put his head up. It smelt like wet and mould and stone; in other words, much as one would expect a dungeon to smell.

They came to the iron banded door which marked the entrance to the dungeon. Draco raised his wand. "Alohamora." The door creaked outward and they walked into it, seeing the many branched pathways that could lead anywhere.

Hermione was nearly vibrating with delight. "This is wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

"Yes. So much to look at. Where shall we start?"

'Asking Mother to teach you needlepoint to distract you from this unwholesome desire to grub about in the dust' he thought, but aloud, said 'Where should you like to start?"

"Let's go from closest to farthest, does that make sense?"

"Eminently. Stick close to my side, darling, there could be vermin." The first pathway led to a series of cells which, to Draco's sensitive nose, still reeked of the last unfortunates to be imprisoned there.

Not wishing to linger, they went to the next one, which was a supply of barrels and baskets, things of that nature. Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "We'll have to tell the elves these are down here."

"Quite." Draco wondered whether Mother would want some to use at the Manor. It disturbed him to realise he cared about such things these days. He wondered whether Hermione felt the same and dismissed it as once; of course she didn't, women love doing things like that.

They walked on and found other, relatively prosaic things. At the end of that corridor was they found the store room. Draco opened it and they studied the huge number of supplies that had been laid up five centuries before either of them were born. Hermione read the labels, sometimes commenting on whatever was inside.

"Do you suppose Hogwarts would want this supply of bat toenails?"

"Probably. Though if we find the herbal for this place, I'd imagine you could use them to make home remedies."

"That's true."

They left the stores and explored a bit more. They finally came to a door dense with runes. Draco, who'd never taken ancient runes, turned to his wife and raised a brow. She smiled.

"Protection and luck. I think we've found the curios."

Draco spelled the door open. This room was shimmering, the wards untouched. Draco called for an elf, who undid them, lit the candles, and left.

The walls were covered with jars in bubbled, ancient glass. Was it? As they looked closer, Draco said 'Rock crystal'. Within the jars, strange and wizened creatures stared with fixed, frozen eyes at some point centuries past.

Hermione was fascinated. She read the hand written labels, translating the runes, horrified and amazed by what she was seeing. 'A blister beetle nest' she pointed to a crennelated structure. 'They've been extinct in Britain for three hundred years."

"I think this quite enough for today, don't you?"

She emphatically disagreed, but she also knew better than to push her luck with Malfoy. "All right. I'd like to find some chairs for the library anyway." They started back for the stairs. There was a soft skittering noise and Draco immediately took hold of Hermione, pulling her close. A great rat, sleekly brown, pink nose twitching, ran out in front of them, hissed, ran off.

Hermione blinked, not surprised to see a rat in a dungeon, and prepared to keep walking. She couldn't-Draco had wrapped both arms about her and simply lifted her up. "There there, shhh, it's only a rat, love."

"Of course it is. I'm not afraid of rats."

Draco chuckled and set her down slowly. "No? I shan't laugh at you, you know, if you are." Hermione shook her head again.

"Really, I'm fine."

"All the same, let's Apparate." He offered his arm and a second later, they were standing in the great hall. "You there, elf! There's a rat in the dungeons." The elf bowed low and immediately set off to find and kill it-house elves and rats being memories from times out of mind.

Hermione sat at the long table and asked for some pumpkin juice for them both. "What did you make of it?"

"Make of what? Below stairs?"

"Yes."

Draco shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. I'll want to ward it, naturally, but other than that, not much of interest."

"Don't you want to explore that room?"

Not really. Draco was admittedly a bit curious, but the idea of mucking about with bits of things, for no real reason, didn't thrill him. But Hermione's cheeks had a little colour, and she wasn't talking in that horrid near monotone. He nodded.

"We'll do a bit each day, hmmm?"

Hermione was speaking to the elf. "Tomorrow? Yes, that should be fine."

"Your parents. They want to come tomorrow for dinner."

"Dinner, love, or supper?"

"Dinner."

"Wonderful. We'll open a bottle of that nice white wine, does that sound good?"

"If you'd like." The enthusiasm had drained from her voice, and her face had attained that stone like smoothness. He groaned internally and reached to stroke a cheek.

"Now, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione."

She shook her head. Draco, huffing with annoyance, stood and picked her up, sliding under her as easily as anything. Holding her against his heart, he murmured in her ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

Hermione knew she couldn't refuse a direct order. Cursing that stupid oath, she said, very flatly 'I rather miss my own parents."

"Ah. Well, why don't you write them?"

"It makes me uncomfortable to have someone reading my correspondence."

"It's for your own good, love. Should you like to talk to Mother about it?"

"That's all right."

Draco wondered why Hermione was still upset by this. She'd had quite a long time to get used to the idea. Still, anything that upset her was of interest to him, and he nuzzled gently at her cheeks, trying to make her smile.

"I just want so much for you to be safe, precious."

"My parents wouldn't hurt me."

"Of course not, angel. But I mean safe from bad things, not just safe physically."

"Bad things?"

"Mmm hmmm. Pernicious ideas, upsetting comments, that sort of thing." He dropped his face to her neck and inhaled. He felt a sudden, dizzy rush of pleasure and contentment at having, finally, possessed her fully.

"I'm not a child."

"Of course not, and we've had this argument. My position has not changed, and apparently neither has yours, so let's don't."

Hermione made herself nestle against him. Malfoy murmured and started to rock lightly. "This won't convince me to change my mind."

"You said once that everyone has a price. Do you still believe that?"

Draco rocked her another second. "Depends." This would be, he was sure, adorable. She'd try some transparent ploy, he'd humour her a little and then he'd find a way to make her think she'd got her way.

In a way, this was a relief. Perhaps she'd taken Mother's advice to heart and decided that being sweet and pleasing to him was the fastest way to get what she liked. He settled her more closely in the crook of his arm and waited.

"What would it take for me to receive letters-and send letters-to my parents without getting them vetted? Just my parents, no one else."

Draco frowned solemnly. "Suppose they should try to find some way to take you from me?"

"They wouldn't. I just want someone to talk to about...things."

"Things? Female things, you mean?"

"Among others."

"Talk to Mother, then."

"Please, I...just miss them." Hermione hadn't had a particularly good day. She'd been with her husband for the first time ever, and she felt cheated by the experience. Not only had she been forced to share herself with someone who wasn't her choice, she'd felt none of the pleasure or intimacy she'd always been led to believe was a part of that.

And she missed intimacy, emotional if not sexual. She missed having meaningful conversation, missed sharing ideas, was deeply, crushingly lonely. And as solicitous of her as Narcissa was (or played at being, she was never quite sure), she was yet another person Hermione hadn't chosen for herself.

Draco touched her cheek. It was all he could do to keep from giving in to her just so she didn't look so damned tragic. Poor little love. He started to rock again, murmuring softly, determined to fix this so she'd smile again.

"What's your proposed trade, darling?"

"What do you want?" Hermione blinked her tears away and made herself concentrate.

"Very clever question, that. Well...I'd like it if we shared more."

"Shared?"

"Mmm hmm. You've been holding your feelings inside, and I don't like it. Not a bit. So I suppose if I could trust you to be forthcoming about how you feel, I could trust your parents to be appropriate with you."

"It seems a bit out of character for you to be concerned about things like that."

"Does it? Muggles must conceive of things differently, then."

"How so?"

"Families share feelings, Hermione. It's a right. Father and Mother should be able to rely on me to trust them with my feelings, and I need to be able to rely on you to tell me yours. Fair?"

Hermione nodded, feeling her conception of the Malfoys shift a little. She'd thought, after the war, that she'd never have to see any of them again. Bitterness beckoned compellingly, urging her to give in to self pity. She fought it, fought it with all her heart.

"How do you feel right now?"

"Now? I...' Hermione didn't want to share with him. Wasn't her body enough? But this was her chance to talk to Mum and Dad in private. Maybe the only one she'd ever get. 'Do you ever struggle not to feel bitter?"

"Bitter? No." And he didn't. His life had changed, but his circumstances had allowed for the change to disrupt his daily routine nearly nothing at all. Draco genuinely never thought of what life might have been like in his wife's position.

"Bitter about what, my darling?"

Hermione breathed in and out evenly. "I'd...well, I'd rather planned it all out. My life. And it, well, it's hard to think of all those plans I'll never get to see to fruition."

Draco crooned and stroked her hair lightly. "What sort of plans?"

"I'd a job lined up in the Office of Magical Beings, for one. And McGonagall hinted that perhaps she'd ask me to take over teaching runes when the current professor retires in a few years' time."

Draco cocked his head. "But you couldn't have wanted to do all that. Why would you? It's hard work."

"I like hard work."

He'd have to have Mother explain all of this to the poor confused love. "But you've everything here you could ever need. Doesn't it make you happy to know that?"

Hermione knew she'd have to step carefully. "It's nice to be secure, but I like contributing something. To give back."

"Our family donates money to any number of worthy causes."

"It's not the same."

"Mother will teach you how to oversee the charities that Malfoy ladies are traditionally the heads of. You'll have plenty to do." It passed through his mind that Parkinson would likely be there, if not now then after she married.

"It's not...it's about...any number of things." It was about the fact she'd been reduced to a child. Legally, and no one could help her. It was about free agency and what was right and the fact she'd been handed over to a stranger like a wheel of cheese. She wanted to reclaim her own destiny, fight her own battles, and make money only she could touch.

His poor Hermione! She was shivering. Without another word, Draco rose and Apparated them to the bedroom. "All right, shhhh. That horrible rat shan't get you, love."

"M-Draco! I'm not scared of the rat. I'm just very frustrated by this situation."

He carried her to the bed anyway, and climbed on top of their robes. "I have to say, I don't quite understand why. It's all worked out."

Hermione inhaled deeply. "May I write a letter now? I did as you asked."

Draco laid back. "All right, my dear. I'll rest right here. Shall we see to furniture for the library after?"

"I'd like that." She sat down at her vanity and dashed off a quick note to her parents, letting them know where she was and why. '...it's really lovely here. Perhaps sometime you'll come and visit. Kiss Crookshanks for me."

She finished and looked to Draco. "Is it...is there sealing wax?"

Draco sent the elf for some and handed her his ring. "We'll get you your own seal, darling." He sat down on the other side of the little bench and watched her little hands move.

Hermione didn't especially care about that. She let the elf apply the blob of wax and then stamped down the ring after wetting it on the tiny sponge the elf held out for her.

"Do you know what it means?"

Hermione shook her head. Draco came over, waved the elf to take the letter to Phoebe to send, and held the ring in his hand so he could point. "Two bats and a crow holding a scroll on a field tenne. The bats mean 'awareness of chaos' and the crow means 'watchfulness for friends'. He's holding letters because letters signify 'keeping ones affaires secret'. And that's the family motto."

Hermione squinted. "Familia nos defendit'. Family defends us."

"Well done. And it's true, you know."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's what families are like."

"Yours, too?"

"Of course." Hermione missed her parents very much, and she wanted to see them again. She loved them dearly, and the irony of having them back in her life for such a brief time, only to lose them, was biting.

"I should have thought they'd be upset you were magical. They didn't beat you or something?" If they had, he didn't know what he do, but he suspected it would be ugly. Hermione was violently shaking her head, which reassured him somewhat, but he still felt tetchy.

"They were thrilled. They always said they'd be proud of me as long as I did my best. And they have been."

Draco tilted his head back. "Who taught you all the things you know?"

"How do you mean?"

"I know you used to stay with Weasley's family a lot. Did Madam Weasley teach you all about...the things you had to know?"

"Draco, I don't know what you mean."

"Well, about...muggles aren't clean like us, are they?"

Hermione's first impulse involved a knee to a particularly vulnerable place. She forced it down, knowing it was contraindicated by her vow, and said as evenly as she could 'That isn't true, Draco, and it hurts my feelings that you'd say that."

He sincerely hadn't meant to hurt her. His brow wrinkled. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, darling." He moved closer and inhaled her scent, lavender water and that warm, sweet-metallic smell, overlaid sweetly with his own earthier, muskier trace.

"My parents are nice people, good people. And as clean as wizarding people are."

Draco wanted to soothe Hermione's temper, but he also didn't believe that load of hippogriff's wallow.

"They can't be, love. Muggles don't understand how certain things work. Did they know to close your pores after you bathed as child, to keep you from getting spattergroit?"

"Close my pores?"

"Of course. Didn't they have your nurse bathe you every day?"

"I didn't have a nurse. My Mum bathed me, or my Dad."

"Your _father_?"

"Only until I was four or five, Draco."

Draco was shaking his head. He couldn't imagine such a thing. "Why didn't your parents have a nurse for you?"

"We couldn't afford it. My parents are dentists-medi-muggles who fix people's teeth."

"Oh." He wondered if medi-muggles were all desperately poor, or the Grangers were just bad with their money.

"I certainly shan't burden you with that sort of work."

"It's not a burden. It's just part of being a parent."

Draco couldn't wrap his mind about what he'd heard. "Wait, your mother works as well?"

"Yes, of course."

Hermione wondered whether her husband's brain was overloaded. He looked more than a little disturbed. "Draco?"

"Darling, I...what a terrible life. I am so, so sorry you had to live that way."

"It wasn't terrible. It was a very normal muggle life. I liked it. My mother loves what she does and is good at it. And my father liked helping me."

Draco shook his head and wondered if he'd made an error in judgement in letting Hermione correspond with her parents without oversight. Who knew what these people were capable of, after hearing all that? He shook his head to clear it and resolved to think about it another time.

"Shall we see to the library now?"

"Yes, let's." Writing her parents a letter had lightened her heart enough that Hermione didn't even mind very much, being so close to him as they Apparated to the library.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

_The husband must see to the wife's every need. He is the wife's reason, as she is his sentiment and his sense of home._

_Attilius Goyle_

Neither Malfoy was sure what to expect. They'd surmised from Draco's latest missive that he and the girl had finally consummated the marriage, which made them both relieved and a bit sad. They were glad the mudblood was incontrovertibly their son's now, but the very fact of her parentage filled them with both with, to put it mildly, discomfort.

Still, they disembarked from the carriage smiling. Draco was there to meet them, grinning, and he embraced them both with all the usual affection he showed them. Narcissa stroked her son's fringe off his forehead and then looked around worriedly.

"Darling, where's Hermione?"

"She's finalising the details of dinner with Lirry, Mother. The cook."

"Of course. How are the elves working out?"

"Well. Hermione's maid, especially, is quite good. Abominably stupid, of course, but what can one expect?"

They both nodded. "Naturally. She's all right? Hermione?"

"Oh, yes. We spent most of yesterday exploring."

"Draco! After what happened between you, you dragged the poor child all through the castle?"

"She wanted to. I suggested she rest, but she was quite resistant toward it." Draco frowned, wondering why Hermione had acted so funny about it-she'd yielded to him without any emotion, but she'd not wanted to cuddle or be fussed over at all after.

"Should you like me to schedule an appointment with a healer for her?"

"Would you? That would be excellent." He turned, sensing Hermione before she appeared, and beamed as she came out, draped in a light cloak and looking determined.

"Dinner is almost ready. Hello, Mother Malfoy. Father Malfoy." Hermione hated calling them that. She didn't mind as much with Narcissa, but it stung like poison to have to address Lucius Malfoy that way. They both embraced her by way of greeting and, after a few pleasantries, the four walked into the hall.

The elves appeared, bowing low, and passed around trays of cold pumpkin juice for everyone. There was a fire burning in the grate to dissipate some of the damp, which seemed to come from the very stones.

"Hermione, that bracelet is wonderful. Where ever did you get it?" Narcissa smiled at her son, thinking he'd bought the girl a reward for submitting to him. Hermione said 'We found it here, Mother. There were a good many personal effects left."

An elf appeared and grovelled. "Lirry is sorry, Madam! Sorry! Sorry!"

Narcissa was prepared to intervene for the girl when she said, very calmly "Lirry, calm down. Whatever's the matter can't be as bad as all that."

"Worse! We is being out of fresh ginger!"

Hermione blinked. "Do we have any dried?"

"Yes! Terrible Lirry! Awful Lirry!"

"Then let's use that, and please stop wailing, no one minds very much." The elf stopped and threw herself at Hermione, sobbing rapturously about how good and kind Madam was, how forgiving.

"Would you please bring in the cheese now, Lirry?"

Lirry vanished, still sobbing. Narcissa, startled, watched the whole exchange. "Deftly handled, love, but won't you punish the elf responsible for doing the marketing?"

"No, Mother. I've been keeping the elves busy, so it's really my fault. We're very grateful you sent so much food with us, because otherwise we'd have had to interrupt the cleaning to send the elves for things."

Draco nodded. "Quite. Hermione's done beautifully, getting everything running." He gave her a warm smile, and Hermione smiled back, though Narcissa rather thought it had more to do with politeness that the affection she could feel radiating from her son like heat.

"I should like to see the rest of your clothes, Hermione. Lucius, Draco, do you mind entertaining yourselves a moment?"

"Not at all." Lucius gave his son a wink and Draco winked back. "Darling, do show Mother all the things we found you, hmmm?"

Hermione agreed and the women walked silently to the bedroom. Narcissa exclaimed over the view and then sat down at the dressing table. "Are you quite all right, darling?"

"Yes, thank you, Mother." Hermione sat on the bed and stared at a point above just to the left of the woman's head. "He didn't...hurt you?"

"No."

Narcissa nodded and decided that was enough. "And the elves? You find them adequate?"

"They're wonderful. Leesy especially is very good at what she does."

Narcissa nodded. "Madam Mink was a good friend to my mother, Druella Black. She married a much older man-he was seventy five and she eighteen-and they never had children. When he died, she opted not to remarry." She didn't mention that elderly lady's string of lovers, which stretched over a century and included some most interesting names.

Downstairs, Draco and Lucius were enjoying one another's company. "And she didn't resist you?"

"No, Father. She got quiet after, though. Is that normal?"

"Quiet how?"

"Sad. She seemed...dispirited, I suppose."

"Mmm, these things are a shock the first few times. She'll adjust, I'm sure."

Draco nodded. He hadn't tried anything before bed, and had exercised self control despite the raging erection he'd found himself possessed of this morning. It wouldn't do to hurt Hermione by demanding too much too soon.

"But her behaviour is satisfactory?"

"Ideal."

"You hardly seem very pleased about it, love. I should think you'd feel proud of yourself, having made so much progress in so short a time." Lucius certainly was; he gave his son a fond smile, feeling a nearly painful cramp of love for the boy in his chest.

"Well, I'm delighted she's stopped defying me, Father, but...' Draco sipped his juice. Father and Mother, so far as he could tell, had always loved one another totally and been in utter accord; he literally couldn't image them having any sort of serious dispute. Mother had always deferred to Father and Father had always used Mother's comfort and pleasure as his guide in things. And Draco's, of course.

"But?"

There's no pleasure in affection compelled, nor satisfaction in obedience forced rather than given from the desire to please. Hermione was endlessly polite, attentive to her responsibilities, willing to discuss problems reasonably.

"She's unhappy." Draco couldn't sum it up better than that. Father frowned thoughtfully and nodded. "I expect some of it is simply shock, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps it was. Now, I think...' Draco summed up the conversation they'd had the night before. Lucius smirked at his son.

"You expected different?"

" I would have thought she'd be relieved, if anything, to know she'd be cared for."

Lucius sighed. "Darling, she'll come to see. All I can suggest is be kind, but very firm, and be consistent. She'll never adjust if she doesn't know what to expect."

"It's hard, Father."

"Of course it is. But you've done splendidly, and will do in the future, I know." Draco smiled at the praise and sipped at his juice. "Harpies won last night?"

"Hmph."

"That's a yes, then." Grinning, the two Malfoy men settled in for a long, pleasant moment of banter and play.

They ladies returned for dinner. Lirry had outdone herself, with a jugged hare, baby lobster salad, dandelion greens in a dressing of cucumber vinegar, fruits glacee and a terrine of sweetbreads, with a blanc mange to follow. And, of course, the white wine, of which Draco was very proud; being master of his own house made him feel a bit like a new father, he thought.

Narcissa waited until the blanc mange had been eaten to speak. "Darling I've decided to make an appointment for you with our medi-wizard. He's served our family for Draco's whole life and then some. You'll love him, I'm sure. He'll help you to feel better, hmm?"

Hermione felt her blood chill a little. "I feel very well, Mother."

"Do you, love? Really? You don't look well. And we've all thought you seem rather withdrawn."

Lucius nodded. "Mother is absolutely right. You'll feel much better, honestly."

Hermione knew better than to argue. She gave Draco a look, which he returned by smiling encouragingly. "We'll be there, Mother. Just tell us the date and time."

"I was thinking-this is Saturday?-Monday at two PM ought to be ideal."

"Don't you have to owl for the appointment?"

All three Malfoys looked amused. "Darling, the medi-wizard will clear his schedule for us."

"That's hardly fair to whomever is there already, Mother."

Draco raised an eyebrow at his father; 'see what I mean?' "It'll be fine, precious. Let us know, Mother."

"Of course. Now, darlings, Father and I will be off. Hermione, I'll be coming back with you Monday so we can continue with your lessons, hmm?"

When they were gone, Draco turned to Hermione, grinning. "What was that, Hermione?"

"Sorry?"

"Let's go upstairs, and we'll talk about it."

In their bedroom, Draco climbed naked under the robes and stretched out luxuriously, warm with food and deeply amused by Hermione's behaviour. How precious! She was scared to go to the medi-wizard. He'd reassure her, and she'd be all right.

"Now, why don't you want to go to the medi-wizard, hmm?"

Hermione slid under the robes as well, dressed in her nightgown. She didn't like the indolence of napping in the middle of the day, but had decided that it wasn't a battle worth fighting.

"Because I don't see any need."

Draco sighed. "You aren't well, darling. We just want you to feel better, is all."

Hermione laid back into the bed. " I feel a little...you said that you'd decide my treatment, Draco. I...hesitate, I suppose to put myself into a stranger's hand with no control at all."

Draco leant over to nuzzle his wife's neck. "Don't you trust us to make the best choices for you?"

Hermione could feel the minefield she'd stepped in. She inhaled deeply and said "It's not that, Draco. I want to be able to take an active part in my own health, is all, because I...wouldn't want to burden any of you." She felt enormously clever for having phrased it that way.

Draco went from being amused to being charmed. "Darling, it isn't a burden. We want to do these things for you. It's our job." He smoothed her hair, gently taking out the braid that Leesy had put it in for their nap.

"But how sweet of you to worry. There, shhhh."

"It might slow down the cleaning, if I'm laid up."

"And that's what elves are for. They don't want you running yourself ragged with minor things, anyway. Nothing is more important than your health." He brought the robe up higher on her chest and gently let his hand trail down to brush her breast.

"Hermione..."

Hermione frowned slightly. "Draco, I think we should discuss this futher."

"Discuss what, darling? I've told you my decision about the medi-wizard. And it'll just be a bit of potion. Not so bad, hmmm?"

Hermione was appalled when she realised her first impulse was to wonder how she could use this to her advantage. But, she reasoned, demanding that Malfoy be reasonable would hardly encourage him to actually be reasonable-likely it would make him clamp down all the harder. She put her mind to beating him at his own game.

How sweet Hermione looked like that, Draco thought, chewing her lip, ringlets carelessly tossed every which way. He was understanding what Father meant by harnessing her own lack of reason to use to manage her; he'd done, he thought, rather cleverly just now.

"Since we'll be out, why don't you think of another place you should like to go?" Draco braced himself for something utterly Hermione like, perhaps Flourish and Blotts. Or perhaps he could convince her to look at something a bit more feminine, like a jewellery store or something.

"I'd like to go and visit my parents."

He blinked. "Your parents?"

"Yes."

"When you're better, love." 'When I can trust you to tell them you're happy with me. When you are happy with me.' He felt better since they'd consummated the marriage, his veela side well sated, but the human part of his mind, the hard pragmatic Malfoy part, didn't want an ugly scene.

Hermione had hoped. She hadn't seen them in forever, and it hurt to even think of them. But in her heart, she wasn't surprised he'd told her no. It confused her sometimes, that Malfoy could say things and mean them, when it came to her happiness, and then do nothing to improve the situation in any meaningful way.

"There's somewhere else, I'm sure. Perhaps a lunch out?" He trailed his lips a little lower and gently brushed her belly with his hands. He'd distract her from the unpleasantness, and then perhaps she'd oblige him.

"If you'd like to, Draco." Hermione knew precisely what he was doing, and she wouldn't be put off so easily. She was finding her inner place, finding the calm in the storm her life was now.

"See, love, this is exactly what we mean. This sort of...inwardness. It's not natural."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because you're closing us out. You need to talk to us, Hermione. It's all this keeping feelings inside that's made you sick to begin with." Draco said it as one who regards it as axiomatic, which he did.

"Wouldn't it make up upset, my arguing with you?"

"Upset? Annoyed, perhaps. And anyway, you promised to share your feelings with me."

Hermione inhaled deeply. "I feel sad I can't go and see my parents. And reluctant to visit this medi-wizard."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't like not having control."

He gently smoothed her cheek. "No? But you know you're cared for and safe."

Hermione sighed helplessly. She'd never be able to make him understand. "That's not the point, Draco."

"What is the point?"

She smiled humourlessly. "I feel diminished. Everything Harry and Ron and I did, and...' she felt horribly guilty and selfish for thinking such a thing, but she'd not stop now.

"And?"

"It's not fair." She looked directly at the ceiling. Some long ago hand had painted a scene on it. Witches and wizards danced eternally in a circle, with hounds barking at their feet, silent musicians playing silent tunes on silent instruments. That was how she felt, at the moment: going through the motions, never accomplishing anything.

Draco could smell her sudden burst of grief. It was cold and thin, sharp smelling as a cut lemon, with a sourish, bitter note that disturbed him. He laid down and pulled her close.

"We'll discuss this later, angel. You're very tired right now."

She wasn't. She felt cruelly, fatally lucid, but she also knew protests would fall on deaf ears. Draco was talking to her and she pretended to hear him, unable even to find her inner solitude. Everything was a sort of terrible white noise.

As for Draco, he wasn't tired either. He wanted his wife to be with his whole heart; that, or have a good long cry. To that end, he pressed his mouth to the shell of her ear and whispered comforting little phrases he'd heard since he could remember.

Her eyes were shimmering. He wished Mother were here; surely she'd know what the problem was. Hermione forced herself to breath deeply and the noise started to recede. Despair and self pity made a noxious stew inside her; she'd not give in. To give in would be to become Snape. She forced herself to look at the positives. What could she accomplish? How could she change the situation for the better?

"What if we invited my parents here? The elves could bring them."

"I suppose that would work." Draco felt his heart catch as Hermione actually beamed at him, and even kissed his cheek.

"Really?"

He was happier than he'd been in forever, because his Hermione was happy. He wished he'd done this ages ago. "Yes, darling. I only want you to be happy."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**This is part one of two. I split the chapter so it wouldn't be ridiculously long- I think much longer and it starts to seem like a chore, versus entertainment.**

** Also, 'What is my thought like?' is a real game from the Victorian era. I have directions, if anyone is interested.**

_ Medicine may cure the brain, but not the mind, and the heart, but not the soul._

_Hypatos Black, On Matters Medical, 1541_

"Profound emotional upset, I'd say. You'd like something for it?"

"I'd like something to help with her mood, is all. So she isn't so down all the time."

Draco fought the urge to fidget with his handkerchief. He was deeply grateful Mother was sitting with Hermione in the examination room; the poor thing hadn't wanted to come, and he would have hated leaving her alone for any length of time.

"Have you considered nonadverso?"

Draco's head snapped up. "I don't need to drug my wife."

The man nodded rapidly. "Of course not. This would simply allow her to repress the...less salutary aspects of her emotions for a short period...perhaps until the two of you have formed a closer emotional bond. Purely temporary."

Draco nodded slowly. "I suppose that might help."

"Shall I owl your usual apothecary?"

"Please do."

The three of them returned to Wales in the carriage. It was quite chilly, and Draco wanted Hermione to snuggle against him. He made a sotto voce suggestion and she, looking studiedly calm, did just that.

As soon as they were home, Narcissa took Hermione upstairs. They talked over supervising the laundry elf, how to tell if the robes had been starched properly, and the care of the bedclothes.

Draco knocked. "Mother, would it be all right for Hermione and I to have a moment?"

"Of course."

Narcissa gracefully stood and left them to their chat. Draco sat in her vacated chair and held out a phial, the first dose of nonadverso. "Here we are, love. All of it for me."

Hermione took the phial. The stuff was noxious green, with bits floating in it. She bent to smelt it. It smelt damp and rooty and sour. Draco gently put a hand to her neck.

"One now and one before bed. Drink it, love."

"What is it?"

"Something to help you feel better."

"What's in it?"

"Hermione."

She looked him in the eye. Why did he have to be this way? She hadn't wanted to go to the medi-wizard to start with. She hadn't like the supercilious little man who'd treated her with such oily, condescending deference and then address every question to Draco, as though she were not there. And she most certainly didn't like being given a potion she didn't know the name of and ordered to drink it.

"Love, if you're in a nasty mood, perhaps tonight is a bad night for your parents to come. I could always owl and..." She swallowed the contents of the phial in a single go and handed it back.

"There's my girl." Draco leant over to kiss her cheek. "Once you're better, precious, we'll see about a honeymoon, won't that be lovely?"

Hermione blinked. "We have to stay here."

"For now." If Mother hadn't been there, he would have taken her on his lap for a long cuddle, but since she was, he left to retrieve her. Narcissa saw no change in her daughter in law, and didn't ask what the potion was; it was Draco's business. She resolved to ask Lucius to ask their son. He'd tell Lucius, and then she'd know.

Draco had never seen Hermione as happy as she was when her parents appeared in their hall, blinking with surprise. She hurtled at them across the damp space, tears streaming, and flew into her mother's arms.

"Mum! Dad! Oh, I've missed you both so!"

She only got happier as they chatted, telling her about the cat and their jobs and the gossip in their neighbourhood. She glowed all through dinner, beamed through dessert and spent quite a long time simply sitting between them after, radiant. She even smiled at Draco.

It almost made him sad to give her the second dose of her new potion. Not because he thought it wrong, but because it caused a little of the joy to leave her face. She'd faded a bit when her parents were whisked back to Darlington, as he'd thought she would, but her mood had been so much lighter he'd thought the potion was working already.

They lay in silence in the darkened room. "Darling?"

"Yes?"

"If you should wake in the night...wake me as well? I hate the thought of you lying alone in the dark."

Hermione said nothing. She was asleep already. He smiled, thinking that everything would be so much better soon. But he felt the small rankling sting deep inside himself; he couldn't make her happy. She had to have a potion for that.

As she slept, the nonadverso slipped around her veins, twined through her heart's blood, curled vine like about her brain and slipped lower, to touch the small careful blood vessels of her fingers and toes, smoothed itself into the vili of the lungs and insinuated itself elegantly through the arteries and dendrites, every cell given a bath of portion.

Squirming into Hermione's mind, small, careful alterations were made to certain neurons. It wiggled damply through the temporal lobes, which sent a few key electrical impulses a milimetre or two to the left or the right. Her emotional centres were being gently coaxed to suppress some and allow other emotions.

Draco woke before his wife. She was moving in her sleep. That was unusual. Hermione was a very heavy sleeper; she practically never stirred once she was settled. His arms went about her and he started to gently stroke her back. "Darling, shhh."

She groaned. "No."

"Just a dream, angel. Just a nasty dream, can't hurt you a bit."

She thrashed harder. "Snake...Bathilda. No, no."

"Shhhhhh. The snake shan't get you, love. You're awfully safe. Shhhhhh."

Her eyes snapped open. "Draco?"

"Darling, it's all right."

She looked puzzled. "Of course it is."

"You were having a nightmare. Don't you recall?"

She shook her head. "No."

Draco nuzzled her neck. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. Just falling asleep."

"Something about a snake and someone named Bathilda?"

Hermione felt her stomach clench, but only for a second. Then it relaxed, and she found she didn't mind so much. She could talk about that. She could talk about anything.

She felt a sort of drugged calm which would allow her to discuss even the most painful subject without flinching. That was what made nonadverso so useful in cases of getting testimony from severely traumatised people-survivors of natural disasters, abuse victims, prisoners of war.

"Yes, Bathilda Bagshot. Harry and I went to her house to ask her about the Hallows. She was dead-it was Nagini, hidden inside her." Hermione hadn't realised she was talking until she heard her own voice.

Draco crooned softly and tugged her closer. "Shhhh. That terrible snake shan't ever, ever hurt you again."

She shook her head. "May we get up now?"

"Don't you want to go back to sleep?"

"No."

It was still dark. Draco frowned slightly. "Darling, it's not even dawn. Shouldn't you like to have some tea to help you fall asleep again? We've nothing to get up to do, really."

"I don't want to go back to sleep."

"Why not, love?"

"I don't know." Hermione was frowning, nibbling her lip in that cute way she had. Draco wondered whether it could be her potion and dismissed it. His poor love had seen so many awful things, it was no wonder she was having bad dreams.

"Then shall we play a game?"

"What game?"

"'What is my thought like?'"

"I've never played."

"I'll teach you right now, then." And he did.

It was a busy day. After breakfast, Lirry came out and they set the menu for the day, deciding on poached salmon, creamed asparagus, jellied fruits and a pate of liver wrapped in bacon for dinner, and lobster bisque and pie, made with the extra creamed asparagus and bacon for supper, all with hot bread and butter.

In the afternoon, they spent some time in the library, sorting the scrolls, inventorying them, seeing what needed repair and what was all right. Draco came up behind her and feathered little kisses down the nape of her neck.

She didn't react. Draco kissed her again. Still no response. He gently turned her round and looked into her eyes. "What's the matter, angel?"

Hermione's eyes were clouded. "Matter? Nothing."

"Yes, there is. You seem very...quiet."

"I'm fine." Draco frowned and cocked his head.

"I expect you're tired. If you need a nap, let me know and we'll go up, hmm?"

Draco was waiting for something to happen, something which would show that the potion had helped, but he noticed no particular change in her mood. She was quiet but not, perhaps, morose. He had hope.

Hermione was finding it easy to shut out the world. The usual stew of unhappiness and anger was strangely absent. She could hardly remember what they felt like. All she felt was a cloud of soft acceptance. If Draco wanted to kiss her, that was fine. If he wanted to ask her about things, that was fine too.

Below that, she could sense something darker. She knew this wasn't how she really felt, and it made her angry. But she didn't really _feel _it. It was there like a sore tooth in her consciousness. But the dose she took before dinner was easier, somehow. The sore tooth feeling didn't seem as important as not upsetting the drugged calm.

After dinner, which was delicious, Draco suggested they explore a bit further, wanting to tire Hermione out so she'd fall asleep deeply and not have any nightmares that night. Hermione nodded, expressionlessly, and they walked into the family quarters and poked through the wardrobes and other places.

Draco climbed onto a soft sort of poof set before a fireplace in the bedchamber closest their own. "Precious, are you positive you feel good? You're very quiet."

"Yes."

"Is something the matter?"

She blinked slowly. "Yes."

"What it is?"

"I feel...off. Not sick, or tired. Just off."

"Let me make it all better, precious."

He smiled invitingly and patted his lap, curious to see what she'd do. She sat down, exactly as he'd intended. He felt a wonderful thrill in his stomach, delighted she'd done it without being told.

Draco pulled her closer. She didn't stiffen or look away or try to squirm down after a moment. He turned her face toward himself and pressed his lips to hers.

Hermione felt a sort of dull surprise when he kissed her. He'd done it before, of course. But usually it made her feel rather disgusted, and now it didn't. Her feelings didn't change a bit. At some level, she was aware she didn't especially want to be kissing him, but she was too tired to care very much.

Draco grinned. "My word, aren't we in a good mood ?"

She didn't answer. Draco kissed her again. Still no response. He gently tipped her face up and looked into her eyes. Her face was still and smooth and without emotion.

Draco felt something bloom in his stomach. Unease, first, and doubt slid it's first tentacles into him as he wondered whether this was worse and not better. He remembered what he'd told the healer, that he didn't need to drug his wife for her to be happy.

Did he? It felt wonderful to him to get affection he hadn't prompted. And like the healer had said, it was temporary. Just a little while. And if she wasn't busy fighting him, they could bond so much better. So when it came time for the...less salutary...emotions to come back, she'd know immediately to go to him for comfort and support.

Yes, it would be fine. Doubtlessly, fine. He kissed her again, and sat holding her for a long time, reassuring himself it was the right choice after all.

She took another dose before bed. She didn't need to be prompted at all. Draco praised her verbally and spent a little extra time tucking her in. "Good night, love. Only sweet dreams, hmmm?"

Hermione closed her eyes. She didn't want to sleep, but she felt helpless against it. Malfoy was patting her. She didn't want him to do that. She wanted to be left alone to sort out her feelings.

Her heart was pounding under his hands. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong, love? Something's been the matter all day. Tell me about it." He kept slowly rubbing her back, hoping it would help her feel safe enough to tell. She missed her parents, of course. And that mangy animal. Probably she felt down about it, and needed to be gently coaxed into telling him. Poor little darling.

Hermione could feel the potion working. It felt like ice in her veins, thick and cold. She lifted her head. "No more?"

"No more what, love?"

"Potion. It's making me...off."

Ah. Draco sighed, wishing he could give in. "Now, precious, you know you need to feel better, and this is the very fastest way, I promise. So be brave, and no more talk about no potion." He hugged her and felt her slump a little. Tired, must have been.

He hated not being able to give her what she wanted. Hated it, but what could he do? She asked him for things that weren't good for her. It was like a child who cried at having to go to bed. Sad, yes, but loads better for in the end.

Hermione hadn't expected him to say yes. Honestly. The fact he'd let her parents visit was miracle enough. She wanted to much to see them again, and hadn't he implied that he might let them come again if she did as he asked? Under her layers of calm, she felt sharp, bitter self loathing at giving in. But she wanted to see them. She did.

Draco gently tipped her chin up, meaning to scold her, lightly, about taking care of her health. He expected tears, or at least petulance. Instead, she just looked...lost. Lonely, almost. Which was silly, because he was holding her very close and they were in bed, where she was safest of all.

"I know you don't like it, love. But once you're better, you'll thank me."

She didn't say anything. Her eyes were dull. That worried him. He called for some tisane to put her to sleep. She drank it without looking at him, and then closed her eyes and didn't say anything else.

Hermione woke feeling worse than when she went to bed. It was a cold, grey day, which matched her mood. Her husband wasn't awake. She forced herself to stand on rubbery legs and went to the chair by the window. She missed the world, and was glad she could only see the sky, and the endless, fathomless sea. Anything else would have hurt too much.

She couldn't remember her dreams. But she could feel them under her consciousness, reaching out their spiky, poisonous feelers, waiting for their moment to hurt her. Draco was stirring. That meant she had to get back into bed.

Draco tried to be gentle with her all day. Not that he needed to be anything else, as she was even quieter than the day before. He watched as she went about her business, head down. Hermione had always been so full of fire, willing to argue, willing to take a risk.

She wasn't now. She seemed uneasy, as though she feared something would hurt her. The elves brought her little treats, compliments, kind words. They didn't fight amongst themselves. Ridgey went back to Malfoy Manor and brought a whole bouquet of late blooming Tyrian purples, the most rare and beautiful of roses, the most fragrant. Hermione thanked him with courtesy that was worse than any rudeness could have ever been.

Over dinner, as she stared at the phial, Hermione felt a hot little stone try to lodge in her chest before it, too was washed about by the stuff in her veins. In it was all her resolve not to take the stuff, all her desire to be able to feel again.

But her parents. If she refused, he'd have her forced, and then restrict her, which meant no visitors. If he got angry enough, he might never let her see them again. Hermione took the phial in her hand and held it, lifted it to her lips.

Draco set down his fork as he watched her toying with the phial. He rose and walked to stand behind her, to support her with his presence. He wished there was something he could do that would ease this.

"Darling?"

She turned. Draco reached out to stroke her cheek, wanting her to cry it out, and was beyond shocked when she...not flinched, exactly. Just sort of moved back fractionally. And totally by reflex. That was worst of all.

He couldn't take it. He took the phial from her hand and helped her to her feet so he could hold her properly. She stood very still. Not pulling back, but not leaning toward him, either. Just resting.

"We're going to put you to bed, love. We'll have supper on trays, and talk about this. No, don't shake your head, just hold on, I'm Apparating us."

In their room, he undressed her himself and helped her into a nightgown and then directly to bed. She laid back, eyes still swimming, and let him tuck her in.

"Hermione?"

She shook her head. She knew she should feel sad- at some level, did feel sad. But emotionally, all she was conscious of was the same endless calm she'd felt for two days.

"Come here, darling. I need to hold you." He did, too. Every sense in his body was going haywire at once, telling him of a threat he could not see or smell of hear. He settled her in his lap and started to rock, murmuring soothingly.

"Tell me what this is about, Hermione. Or should I have Mother come?" That, of course, would fix everything. Mother could make everything better if he couldn't. But he thought he could. He nuzzled against her cheeks and neck, talking softly, just making her feel safe.

"Ready, love? To talk about it?"

Hermione swallowed. "Talk about what?"

"Why you're crying."

"Oh. Sadness."

"Are you sad?"

"Yes. No. My thoughts are sad. But all I feel is calm."

Draco rocked silently for a moment. "Why are your thoughts sad, darling?"

"Because I don't want to take it but I have to."

"The potion?"

"Yes."

"We talked about how it will make you feel better."

"I know."

Hermione was biting her lip. Her eyes stung a little, but she felt no real urge to cry. She frowned deeply, bit harder on her lip and folded her hands. She felt sleepy but she didn't wish to go to sleep. She would-wouldn't?-dream. She didn't want to see things she wouldn't remember after.

Draco wished she could sleep. A good, deep sleep that would help her feel better. That was half of the problem, he thought. He'd been woken by her thrashing, but just for a moment. She'd seemed to calm down, so rather than waking her, he'd just hugged her closer and gone back to sleep.

He sent the elf for a cup of tisane. "Drink this for me?"

She did. Draco would have felt better had she not looked so hopeless as she lay back and waited for sleep to steal over her like a thief.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**The detailed concrit I've been getting is awesome, incidentially :)**

_"The husband must know when to rule and when to use gentleness, just as the wife must know when to scold an elf and when to gently wheedle."_

_Fimbrius Malfoy, letter to his brother Hyperion, 1779_

Lucius Malfoy considered himself a lucky man, after a fashion. For all the misfortunes he'd experienced in the past two years, everything had worked out nicely, in it's own way. But he wasn't sure the same could be said for the healer, who was looking down the end of Draco's wand.

"You. Said. It. Would. Help. Her."

"Yes, yes, but as I've explained-"

"You fix this. Right. Now." Draco's hands were shaking. His face was deadly white, accept for two lividly red patches on his cheeks. The healer straightened and shook out his robes.

"Your wife needs rest and calm. Perhaps a sanatorium in-"

"No."

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"No." Lucius reached out and gently touched his son's arm. "Healer, perhaps you do not understand. My son and daughter in law cannot be separated. You'll need to come up with a solution that doesn't involve them being apart."

"There's no reason we couldn't continue with the potion.""Aside from the fact she's not sleeping?"

The healer sniffed, annoyed. "Mr. Malfoy, your wife is simply attempting to manipulate you. And your fussing about is playing into it. As I've said, there's a lovely sanatorium in-"

Draco's wand was raised again. He looked very calm. "Shut up. And fix. My wife."

"Really, Mr. Malfoy, this isn't helping anything."

Draco moved closer, and Lucius shot him a Look, the sort he'd spent the previous twenty years perfecting. Draco didn't seem to notice; was this healer a fool? He was profoundly lucky not to have been mauled to rags by an enraged veela.

The healer huffed and sent his elf for various potions and philtres. "I must strongly register my protests to all this. I've seen this before, and it was simply wilful women attempting to force their way."

Draco lunged. Lucius caught him just in time and gave him a single hard shake and a hissed "Draco Lucius."

Draco calmed as they went into the room where Narcissa was talking softly to the silent, white faced Hermione. Her eyes were ringed with shadow and her hands were folded as though she couldn't think of what else to do with them.

"How does Madam feel?" For the first time, the healer directed a question to Hermione. Her eyes opened and she looked at him, feeling hot loathing under her drugged docility.

"Calm."

"Yes, yes, I mean physically. Nauseous? Dizzy?"

"No."

He turned back to Draco. "And Madam's mood?"

"Uncommunicative and withdrawn."

The healer began to palpate Hermione's glands. "I see."

"What the hell does that mean?"

The healer looked levelly at Draco. "Medicine is an art. Perhaps if we adjust the dosage?"

Draco shook his head. " No. Undo whatever you did."

"One can't expect results overnight, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco looked at Hermione, who was shivering slightly. 'Leesy, get Madam's bed jacket and lap robe, what's the matter with you?"

"I really must insist you consider the sani-"

This time Lucius wasn't quite fast enough. Draco was on the man in a flash. "If you don't cure whatever it was you've done, I'll rip out your throat with my bare hands. Do it now."

The elf produced a phial of something thickly, vitally red, like blood, and handed it to the healer. Hands trembling, he handed it over. Hermione took the potion without a word. She closed her eyes for a moment, and gasped as her whole body tingled all over, as though every inch of her had fallen asleep and was coming awake at once.

Draco went to her. Sitting down, he put both arms round her and held her tightly. "Better, precious?"

Hermione blinked, eyes clear for the first time in days. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

Draco turned to the healer. "If she hadn't been..." The look on his face promised brutality.

The healer took a step back and ran smack into Lucius Malfoy, a head taller than he, and smirking down at him. "Your services are no longer needed." His face had all the cool disdain of his class.

The healer saw himself off, deciding he was well rid of them all.

Narcissa gently touched her son's arm. "Darling, Father and I will stay for the day, hmm?"

Draco nodded absently, completely focused on Hermione. They crept into the next room as softly as they could, and relaxed, knowing the current crisis had cooled every so slightly.

Draco had thought nothing could be worse than the time he'd spent in waiting to get his Hermione back. The long, long days, pacing and checking the wards and trying to restrain his new, violent impulses, the awful nights where every sound roused him.

This was worse. Looking at her dark ringed eyes, set in a marble coloured face, Draco felt a sharp, angry sense of...something. It wasn't guilt, definitely. Not that. Anger, of course. But not guilt.

Hermione felt as though she'd been splashed by hot water after being submerged in cold jelly. "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty AM."

"Oh. Has everyone eaten?"

Draco laughed. Sweet Hermione, always worrying about others. He nuzzled her neck, cooing softly, filled with relief and a light he hadn't felt in what seemed forever. "Darling, the elves will see to it. How are you?"

"I've a headache."

He nodded and helped her to her feet. "Let's get you put to bed and Leesy'll bring you something for it."

After he'd settled her under their robes, they studied one another. "Can we talk about your feelings, love?"

"Would later be all right?" She seemed shockingly calm, given what had happened lately. Draco cupped her cheek. "I was so afraid I'd lose you, love."

"Why don't you go and see your parents, Draco? I'd like some privacy."

He wanted more than anything to refuse. He needed to stay with her, keep her safe, make sure she slept. But that feeling was still there, and perhaps Mother and Father would have some perspective.

"I'd like to stay until you're asleep. Would you mind?"

Hermione shook her head. The headache potion ended the dull pounding, and exhausted from lack of sleep, she was out in seconds. Draco threatened Leesy with clothes should she leave Hermione even a second, except for life and death emergencies. Leesy sobbed to reassure him she never would, and settled beside Hermione's head, making the soft shirring noise that house elves use to soothe the children they care for. Draco calmed a little, hearing it; Hermione was in good hands.

Draco called for cider for all three of them and knocked up his parents' door. They bid him enter at once. "Is she well?"

"I don't know." Draco sat next to his father and sipped pensively at his cider.

"You did the best you could, Draco."

"I know. But it wasn't enough." He drank a little more. 'I failed her."

"Didn't. You're both very young, love."

"Did. This never happened with Mother."

"No' said Lucius' it didn't. But you never meant her to come to harm. And don't contradict your elders, Draco."

"No, Father. How do I make this up to her?"

"Women like jewellery." Narcissa snorted and set her tankard down. 'Lucius, really."

"They do."

"Yes, but this is not a matter for jewellery. This is more serious. Why not send for her cat, Draco?"

"I'm scared I'll hurt it."

"You've not hurt Phoebe."

"Phoebe isn't competing with me for Hermione's attention."

"True. You restrained yourself beautifully with that medi-wizard."

"Thank you, Mother. I suppose we can try." He sent Rinky to Darlington, and in ten minutes had been handed a fat orange pudding, with two currant eyes, along with a note from Hermione's mother, asking after them.

He held the pudding cat at arm's length. "Listen, you: don't wee on my shoes, or try to take my pillow, and we'll be best mates, understand?" The cat miaowed haughtily, demanding to know where his Girl was. Draco carried him to her, and watched as the cat arranged himself right against her side, purring and kneading contently.

Hermione woke to a warm weight on her side. She rolled, half asleep, and felt soft, moving fur. "Crooks? Crookshanks?" He miaowed, asking her why she'd taken so long in getting him, and butted his head against her cheek, purring.

From the chair by the fire came her husband's voice. "So it is a cat. I fancied it some sort of pillow."

Hermione sat. "Draco? Did you do this?"

"Thought he'd help you feel better."

Hermione nodded. "Did I sleep long?"

"It's almost midnight."

She gasped. "Truly?"

"Quite. We need to discuss this."

"I know." She stroked Crookshank's smooth fur. He purred and rolled on his back for a belly rub, flailing his drumstick like legs to get her attention. Hermione giggled. Once, very softly, but it filled Draco with delight. He smiled broadly and came to sit next to her on the bed. The cat sniffed at him disdainfully and then ignored him, which suited Draco fine.

"What happened?"

He shuddered. "You've been very restless in your sleep, darling. Having you drink the tea was a bad idea, on top of the potion. You woke me thrashing and I couldn't rouse you." He'd woken, just after one AM and it had taken until after seven for the tisane to finally, finally wear off.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be! I can't stand that you were having nightmares like it was. And you needn't be so formal, love. I'm your husband, it's my job to respond to your emergencies."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Draco...it's better I be formal. I'm feeling rather upset over this right now, and I'd rather be excessively formal than say something...imprudent."

Draco nodded. "I appreciate that, love, I do. But I'd rather hear it than have it fester inside you."

"I swore a vow. And I hardly think using coarse language and slapping you is perfect Pureblood wife behaviour, do you?"

He snorted despite himself. "Mrs. Leek wouldn't say so." Mrs. Leek literally wrote the book on proper Pureblood wifely conduct. 'And you didn't slap me, you punched me."

"It was a slap."

"Yes, and Goyle is the smartest bloke in Britain. Moving on, I regret not having listened to you."

She understood it for what it was, an apology, and nodded. If Ron had ever tried that sort of shite on her, she'd have hexed him into next Tuesday, but this was Malfoy. Perhaps he'd never given an actual apology ever.

"Thank you, Draco."

"Welcome. What else can I do to make it up to you?"

"Could my parents come again?" Draco took her hand and played with her fingers, very gently, just wanting to feel her and let her know he was there. She let him. Would he let them come?

"Since my parents will be here so much, let's set up a schedule. Just so no awkward moments get interrupted, hmm?"

"Schedule?"

"Yes. Let's say we have them over every, oh, Thursday ? Does that sound right?"

Hermione went still. "Do you mean it?"

"Assuming your health is up to it, yes. You seemed to feel better after they come, and it's only fair, since Mother and Father will come over, too."

He was absolutely startled when she put her arms about his neck. He could feel something warm and wet on his skin. "Love?"

Hermione pulled back, crying a little. "I just miss them so much."

"I know. Shhh, there there, they'll come very soon." He had to hold her. She didn't seem to mind as much this time.

Hermione was so grateful to be free of the potion, and to have the chance to see her parents again, that she almost didn't mind his touch like she had. Almost. She felt a terrible anger about what had been done to her, and a resolve that it should never happen to anyone else.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Hermione steeled herself. "Why, Draco? I've been as good as my word."

"Yes, you have. And we just...I want you to be happy, truly. And it seemed like nothing else seemed to work."

"What was it?"

"Nonadverso. I...he told me you'd only need it a little while, and we'd bond, and then when you were off it, you'd be able to deal with how you felt safely."

"You talk about safety a good deal."

"Can't help it. It's the veela thing."

"Oh. Deal with what, precisely?"

"I know you aren't happy about this. Our marriage, and moving away from home."

"Yes. We talked about it, remember?"

"Of course. But I know you haven't been telling me how you really feel."

Hermione shut her eyes a second. "Put yourself in my shoes, Draco."

"What would that fix?" There are lines and there are lines. He wondered if this was a side effect of the potion.

"I mean, pretend you're me. Would you want to open up in these circumstances?"

"If I knew the person cared about me, and wouldn't hurt me, and could take care of me better if I talked about my feelings, I would."

Crookshanks stood and stretched, daintily giving Draco a damned good poke with his paw. Draco frowned. "Remember our agreement, cat."

"Agreement?"

"That's right. He's promised not to wee on my shoes, or take my pillow."

"Oh." Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. Crookshanks got closer, smelling this new Person all over, especially about the neck and hands, where scent congregates. Then, to prove his disinterest, he put his leg over his head and started to wash his bits.

"Crookshanks, really!" Hermione smiled slightly at her cat. "He's awfully stubborn about new people."

"Hadn't noticed."

They sat in awkward silence for a long while. "What would you like to eat, Hermione?"

Hermione pondered. "Is there any of that quail from yesterday?"

"Ought to be. And we'll have something sent up for the cat, too." The cat lifted his head from his thighs long enough to give Draco a look of derision. He actually rather liked his Girl's Mate, but it wouldn't do to spoil him too early in the training process.

"Keep it up and it'll be a lump of poison, you wretched beast."

"Draco!"

"He glared at me."

"That's just how his face looks!"

"Hmmph. _Cold_ poison, at that." Crookshanks snorted and kept bathing. Draco found himself like the mangy animal. A bit.

The elves, sobbing with relief in the kitchen, made a tray of cold quail and spiced apples, with gooseberry tarts for lasts. Hermione and Draco both ate, feeling the silence keenly, but grateful for it. Wounds were too raw at the moment to contemplate serious discussion.

A few moments later, Narcissa knocked on the door and poked her head in. Both children were dozing, the tray sitting on the floor and the huge part kneazle gnawing a bone with enthusiasm.

"Aren't you handsome?"

Crookshanks flicked his tail to show it to advantage and lifted his head, great tufty ears swivelling to hear what this clever Woman had to say.

"You'll watch them, won't you?"

He grumbled. What a foolish question. Of course he would. What would the humans do without him?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Thank you again for all the concrit, it really does help.**

_"As all things have a role, that of the house elf is constant toil. As it accepts that axiom of it's own being, so must wizards accept that the elf exists purely to serve the needs of the master."_

_ Virgillia Malfoy, 'Letters to Wives' Chapter 33, 'On House Elves', 1816_

When Draco woke, he felt two things at once, with the force of what the French call 'une coup de foudre', a lighting strike. One was the sweet relief that his wife lay still beside him, breathing deeply in the pre-dawn stillness. The other was an immediate physical need to be with her, to work on deepening their bond, see that she'd never want to leave him.

She was stirring. Draco crooned wordlessly, wanting her to stay asleep so he could savour being here as the sky lightened. Hermione had, he perceived, a strange aversion to the sort of relaxed, sprawling life he himself had been raised to expect. Probably the result of her terrible childhood, he thought sympathetically.

Her eyelashes were fluttering. Hermione yawned, covering her mouth, and blinked sleepily a moment. Draco bent and pressed his mouth to hers, and tried to draw up the skirt of her nightdress at the same time, wanting, needing to lie with her, to reinforce their bond in the most primal way possible.

Hermione shook her head. "No."

"No?"

"I can't. Please." She sounded funny to him. Draco bent his head and pressed his cheek to hers. "There, shhh. I shan't ever do anything to make you feel scared or hurt, dearest. You know that."

Hermione nodded and breathed a sigh of relief as he rolled away. He took her hand and lightly stroked the skin between her fingers, desperate for the bond. "Is there some reason, my pet?"

"I...I need some time to process what happened."

"With the potion."

"Yes."

"Can we talk about it?"

"I felt helpless, Draco. I'm not ready to give up that kind of control right now."

"All right." He kissed her fingers, one by one. "Thank you for sharing with me, precious."

Crookshanks rose from his place at the end of the bed and walked toward them. Fixing Draco with a curranty, gimlet eyed look of disapproval, he crossed Hermione's chest to nuzzle her face, marking her afresh and bathing her cheeks with his raspy tongue. He groomed her for a moment and, feeling he'd made it clear what the order of males in Hermione's life was, he stretched contentedly and padded off to find his pan of sand to use.

Hermione rose as well. Shrugging into her wrapper, she called for Leesy, who appeared with a cup of tea. 'Thank you, Leesy. Would you draw a bath for me, please?"

Draco ordered Minky to do the same, and he went into the little antechamber he used so Hermione could perform her toilette in privacy. Hermione felt relieved when he walked out. She had learnt, if nothing else, to savour her privacy like a fine wine.

Stripping off her nightgown, she stepped into the tub. She didn't especially like being bathed, but Leesy had put up such a fuss when she tried to press the issue that she'd given up. The elf soaped her, and washed her hair, chattering happily the whole time, beyond delight at having Hermione feeling well again.

"Miss is wearing the dark brown robes? With purple dress and stockings?"

"That should be fine, Leesy."

"And gold net in hair."

"All right."

Leesy held out the warmed towel and Hermione rose. She did enjoy the sprinkle of lavender water, she thought, a might guilty as Leesy helped her into the old fashioned cotton undergarments, stockings, the dress, robes, shoes, and the promised hair net.

Coming down the stairs, she was deeply startled find the elder Malfoys sitting at the table, the remains of breakfast in front of them. Lucius rose politely when Hermione entered the room, and they both smiled.

"My dear, how well you look."

"Thank you. Were you waiting long?"

"No, not at all. Where is Draco?"

"Here, Father." Draco, also dressed, smelling of cologne, came down the stairs and embraced his parents. "Thank you both for staying yesterday."

"Not at all, love. You did quite well all on your own."

Narcissa nodded. "After you've eaten, I should like to speak with Hermione."

The men got the idea and Draco quickly ate his pound cake and jam. "Should you like to see the library, Father?"

"Desperately." The men made their way out discretely as Narcissa sat down across from Hermione and poured them both more tea.

Narcissa was prepared to give the girl a most important lesson, one she'd not given her before.

"Darling? We need to talk about something very important. About your relationship with Draco."

Hermione stiffened very slightly. Narcissa mentally sighed.

" I shan't scold you. I know you and Draco have had your...disagreements in the past."

"Yes."

"But, you know, sometimes...well, one draws more hinkypunks with pumpkin juice than bat spleen."

"Oh."

"There's nothing wrong with using a bit of gentle persuasion. Men can be very...oblivious, sometimes, to what women need, or like. So if you ever need some help, feel free to let me know."

Hermione was intrigued. She lifted her head and was surprised to see Narcissa smiling slightly. "Persuasion?"

"A bit of help to see things our way. Women are meant to be fragile, protected creatures, darling, not stupid ones. You aren't-I thank the ancestors daily for that- so I daresay you understand what I mean when I say that."

"I don't understand how you can be happy living this way." Hermione was rediscovering herself, and she felt better for having said it, for all it likely wasn't terribly prudent.

"No? I could say the same for the way you lived."

"But there's no freedom here, no choice."

Narcissa took the girl's hand. "My dear, you must understand you missed on a few important lessons by not being bore among wizarding people."

"How do you mean? Mother?"

"There's a place in life for more direct sorts of action, and a place for skill, hmm?"

"You're talking about subtly?"

"Yes, but also...well, we ladies are awfully frail and weak, aren't we? We've so many winning little ways."

Hermione found a little pellet of liking unfurling like a flower in her heart. What Narcissa was saying was repugnant, at some level, but hearing it put so baldly was rather enlightening.

"Go at it more gently?"

"Well, there's having something-choice, power-and the appearance of having it."

"It's hard for me to reconcile myself to this, Mother. Draco sometimes...we have different ideas about things."

"No doubt, but you must remember that Draco will always win. Everything is set against you except your own cleverness and the help of other ladies."

Hermione chewed her lip, deep in thought. "But it isn't right."

"No? It's a bargain, like anything else. The right sort of woman can do anything while appearing to do nothing at all. You find no pleasure in the challenge?"

"I'd rather do things directly." Hermione sipped her tea and then set down her cup.

"But that isn't always an option, my dear. I agree, and would never suggest you keep something from Draco, or do something immoral. But if you can't achieve your aims in one way, don't rule out another, is all I'm saying."

Hermione wanted some time to let this digest. She smiled and stood. "Would you like to join them in the library?"

"I would."

The Malfoys decided to stay a bit longer, and as the elves swore this was no problem, they moved into a guest bedroom. Hermione went about her normal routine, making small decisions, setting menus and the like.

All four of them were resting in the solar off the main bedroom when Peasey appeared wailing. Hermione, after weeks of this, was relatively inured to it and finished her sentence before she addressed the elf.

"Something the matter, Peasey?"

"Peasey is bad elf! Terrible elf!" He would have howled further self imprecations had Hermione not held up a hand. "Stop, and tell me what's happened, please."

Peasey dried his eyes on the edge of his tea towel. "We is knocking over ink well!"

Draco huffed. "You interrupted us for that? Just clean it up, idiot."

"No! On rug! Ooohhh!" Peasy began enthusiastically punching himself in the head, still wailing. Hermione felt her head beginning to pound. "Peasey, it was an accident."

Peasey wailed louder. "Ooohhh, Peasey should be punished! Bad Peasey!"

Everyone turned and looked at Hermione. "I really don't think-"

Peasey shrieked and began to pound his head on the stone fireplace. Lucius stood and helped Narcissa stand. "Children' he half yelled to be heard over the elf 'we shall be in our chambers. Do let us know if this gets out of hand."

They beat a hasty retreat. Hermione finally managed to get Peasey to stop before he brained himself. "Peasey, I don't want to punish you. I-"

The din was deafening. Peasey set up a blood curdling howl and began to smash his face against the wall so hard Hermione feared he would kill himself. "Stop it! Make him stop!"

Draco stood. "Peasey, enough. Madam and I will decide your punishment, now go before you bleed all over everything." Peasey, sobbing rapturously, clutched Draco's legs in a gesture of gratitude and then vanished, having neatly cleaned his blood from the stones first.

Draco sighed. "Darling, why did you do that?"

"Because I didn't want him to hurt himself! There was no need, it's only a rug."

Draco put both arms around his sweet, childlike Hermione. "Precious, it doesn't work like that."

"But he was hurting himself!"

"Yes, it was. That's what it was bred to do."

"That's obscene. He can't _want_ me to hurt him."

"No? Then why did he get so upset when you wouldn't punish him? In his mind, that means you don't love him."

Hermione flung her hands up. "This is impossible."

Draco held her closer, gently stroking her hair. 'You just aren't used to not knowing, is all. Think how it is for people not as smart as we; they feel like this all the time."

Hermione snorted despite herself. 'Draco, that's terrible."

"I'll help you, love. But you do need to deal with Peasey."

"Can't I just tell him not to do it again?"

"Do you honestly think that will work?"

Hermione breathed through her teeth. "This whole situation is appalling."

"It's for Peasey as much as anything else, love. He'll not have any peace until he thinks we care about him again."

Hermione squared her shoulders and nodded. "I understand. Could I please speak to Peasey? Alone?"

Draco wondered what Hermione was up to. He nodded and gently slid her off his lap. "All right, darling. If you need anything, send for us, hmm?"

Hermione nodded, reaching for the bravery which had allowed her to survive so many things in the past. She could do this. She could.

"Peasey?"

Lucius Malfoy had made the acquaintance of Hermione's ginger tom. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to unmake it; more specifically, he couldn't get the insolent creature off his lap. He'd quite resigned himself to belly rubs, at least for the foreseeable future.

Draco knocked and then sat down. The cat snuffled at him for a moment and put his head back down, clinging to Lucius' trousers with his claws. Lucius sighed softly and scratched the creature's ears.

"What's happened, love?"

"Hermione is struggling with this, is all."

"Will she be able to do it?"

"I hope so, Father."

Narcissa handed Draco a goblet of the pumpkin juice she'd ordered sent for the children. He sipped a little and then set it down. "She's not been well."

"No' agreed his mother, and patted his shoulder 'she's not. But this was bound to happen."

"Just wish it weren't so hard."

"Everything worth doing is hard, Draco." Lucius smoothed the cat's soft, downy coat. Crookshanks purred, kneading, and then jumped down. He'd go and find his Girl and see what she was doing.

Hermione wished the elf would either stop crying or let go of her legs. She couldn't bring herself to shove him off, but she was trying to find a way to gently disentangle the sobbing elf.

"You really want me to punish you?"

"Yes! Oh, yes!"

Hermione's brain was swirling wildly. "But...why?"

"Is being bad elf! Ooohhh!"

Hermione spent a long moment debating the ethics of this.

"I, ah...how did your previous mistress deal with this?"

"Was having Peasey boil toes."

"Oh." Suddenly, Hermione had an inspiration. She smiled, and then, reminding herself this was serious business, shook her head to clear it and said 'Peasey, I've an idea. Why don't you alphabetise all the books in the library-not the scrolls, the books-by hand? Probably your arms would be sore after, but you wouldn't have to maim yourself."

"Madam is so good! So kind!" Peasey's tears were pattering off Hermione's shoes and she finally said 'Peasey, please!"

"Madam?"

"Would you mind starting now?"

Peasey bowed and DisApparated just as Draco poked his head in. "Hello, pet. How did it go?"

Hermione rose and said 'Better than I had any right to expect."

"Is Peasey feeling better?"

"Much."

"What did you have him do?"

Hermione explained. Draco laughed out loud. "Jolly good, Hermione!"

They looked at one another, a trifle awkwardly, and then Crookshanks finally wandered in, having made a detour. He miaowed to be picked up and sniffed Draco haughtily, wondering when the two would finally mate and be done with it. His Girl's mate smelt of pheromones and it was annoying him.

Hermione bent and hugged the cat, taking him from Draco's arms. The cat nuzzled closer, sighing with pleasure, and then wriggled to get down, stalking about the room and then depositing himself on the softest chair, preparing for a quick, four hour nap.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Does it bother you they were bred this way?"

"Whom?"

"House elves."

"No."

"Why not?"

Draco, whose social conscience could charitably be called vestigial, shrugged. "We've all a part to play, Hermione. That's theirs, is all."

Hermione turned to look at the ocean. She missed her old life with a pain that was becoming more cerebral by the day. That hurt almost worse than the actual pain-that her emotions were turning elsewhere, and that ringing something that she'd taken as a right two months ago from Draco and seeing it as a victory just made it worse.

It was a dry, dull aching these days. She would have brooded further but his arms went about her and he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and then feathered them lower.

"Knut for your thoughts, love?"

"I miss...some things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Taking walks with Mum, the British museum." Freedom, choice, self determination. But Narcissa's comments had led her to wonder some other things, too. Was it wrong to do things that way? Wouldn't it make her like them?

Draco smiled and kissed her neck again. "Once everything's calmed down, love, we'll go all sorts of places."

She didn't say anything. Together, they looked out and were lost in their internal wanderings like a ship on Homer's wine dark sea.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**Thank you all for your feedback. It really does help. I'm going back to University tomorrow, so it might be a few days before another update.**

_"A man's house is his refuge against the world, just as he is his wife's against everything outside her sphere."_

_ Fimbrius Malfoy, letter to his brother Vespasian._

Draco watched his wife as her maid pulled the last pin out and took up the brush. The elf was taking to her softly as she smoothed the bristles through Hermione's hair. Hermione seemed very reserved, almost distant. It made Draco's stomach squirm wetly; what could this mean?

The day had been very quiet. After the house elf was taken care of, they'd spent the long, long hours talking of nothing, avoiding anything that might remind them of what had happened. Lucius and Narcissa bid them goodbye after dinner and were Apparated him, reminding them to let them know should they be needed.

For Hermione, her numbness was a blanket, an armour she'd donned against the world. The only safe place was her own mind, and she was content to stay within it for the nonce, ensconced there.

The cruelty of things, Draco reflected as Leesy continued to brush, was that the world marches on regardless of what rocks our own small lives. There is always a meal to be cooked, a shirt to be cleaned, a letter written; always the world spins and we, poor players on a stage we do not control, must move with it. Only the dead have earnt the right to be still.

Draco was not still. He waited until the elf braided the mass of curls into a plait, tied it and tugged back the robes to speak. Hermione crawled under and laid down on her pillow without a word, face bland as porridge.

"Hermione?"

She rolled and looked enquiring. "How are you feeling?"

"Well. A bit chilled. I might ask Leesy to put another log on."

"Please do. I meant emotionally, though. How are you?"

Hermione was looking at the ceiling again. "I'd rather not discuss this right now."

"Please, love?"

"Give me a little while, Draco. Please."

Hermione found the numbness dissipated slowly over days, like the slow clearing of the fog which sometimes hovered over the sea like a shroud. She found herself watching it, sometimes, soothed by the endless, womb like sensation of envelopment; she was a mote in something infinitely larger than herself.

That's where it finally happened. Crookshanks was curled on her lap, mouth open as he snored, when something warm and wet rolled down his nose. He opened his eyes in time for another to hit him, and another. It was eye water. His Girl was sad.

Crookshanks stood on his stubby hind legs and miaowed plaintively, giving her a chance to bury her face in his ruff. Hermione dropped her head to the cat's neck and whimpered. "Oh, Crooks, I want to go home." She held his soft, warm body in her arms and began to sob softly.

Draco could tell something was wrong. He rose and Apparated himself from the library to the bedroom. He could hear low, damp breathing, and crossed the room, smelling her sorrow.

"Darling?" He sat down next to her on the pouf and tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Hermione pulled away. "I'd like some privacy now, please."

He sighed and simply lifted her into his lap. "Much better. Now, what's all this?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course you don't."

Hermione said nothing and held the cat more tightly in her arms. He purred, nuzzling her neck and just lying still, letting her hold him like she needed to.

Crookshanks was old; he'd seen a good many things in his time, and he understood grief. He rubbed her cheeks and chin, licked gently at her neck to calm her. His presence demanded nothing, sought nothing; he was content merely letting her wet his fur with tears.

After a few moments she'd calmed. She gave Crookshanks a last hug and set him down. He settled on the floor between the two humans, giving Draco a look imbued with the clear eyed malice only a valedictory cat can summon.

Draco was respectful of what that look implied. He imagined finding chunks of little furry creatures in various unpleasant places and nodded slowly, letting the cat see they'd understood one another. "Precious?"

"Please?"

He nodded. "I hate that you're not feeling safe enough to tell me, angel." He put a hand on the back of her neck and squeezed.

Hermione felt something small snap inside herself. "Would you?"

"Sorry?"

"Feel safe, after everything that's happened? Honestly?"

"I've told you-"

She turned on his lap. "I understand this is hard for you, Draco, but has it ever occurred to that you're lucky in some ways?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes! How much has your life changed? Honestly?"

"We're married now."

"You've your parents, and your home, and everything else. I don't. And when you didn't think I seemed happy enough, you drugged me, Malfoy."

"What would you have had me do?"

"Listen to me!"

"For me you listen, you need to speak. I've asked you so many time, and what do you tell me? Nothing." Draco didn't put her down, or even stop rubbing her back as he spoke. He felt completely calm. He'd help her with this and she'd feel all better, was all.

Hermione breathed deeply. "I could have been more communicative, but why should I speak when you won't listen?"

"Darling, I've explained why the things you've asked me for can't happen."

"The reason they can't happen is because you aren't willing to make the effort. You expect me to do all the compromising."

She wriggled, trying to get from his lap. Draco tightened his hold slightly, frowning. "That's how married life is. You knew someday you'd leave home."

"Yes, but I expected that R-both of us would make compromises, sort of fifty-fifty."

"Yes, and see how that worked out?"

Hermione nodded, face bitter. Draco sighed. "Darling, just because you're used to something doesn't mean it'll make you happy. You've not considered the benefits of living this way."

"But I was happy, Draco. Happier than I am now."

That hurt. He winced slightly. "I've never tried to make you unhappy on purpose, you know."

"You have. You took everything from me, and you won't bend even a bit."

He started rocking a little. "But I've given back as well, haven't I? You're safe and comfortable, and surrounded by people who care about you, who lo-"

Hermione stopped him. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't." Her hands were shaking. She couldn't bear hearing that word from her husband's mouth at the moment. She'd die. It would be obscene, grotesque. She closed her eyes and struggled against a renewed impulse to cry.

Draco could smell her emotions shift and he pulled her against his chest. Part of him wanted to take her in the bedroom and climb with her under their robes for a cuddle and chat. But he couldn't. She wasn't nearly ready for that.

"Have a good long cry, precious. It's all right."

She shook her head. "No. No."

"You promised to share."

"This is all I have." She meant her emotions, her private thoughts, the safety of her own mind. That was all. She'd been stripped of everything, and what had replaced it the space in her head, the rooms of her own mind.

"Your misery?" He smirked sardonically, trying to make her smile a bit. She couldn't be this unhappy, could she? Hermione's looked away, saying nothing a moment.

She shook her head. "No. My feelings."

"Don't be silly, love. You've the whole world."

"No, I don't. I have whatever you're willing to let me see."

That was true. He was still stroking her back. He stopped and meditatively looked out the window, watching the foam capped waves splashing against the rocky shore, smelling the salt tinged air.

"If there's something you want, Hermione, you only have to-"

Hermione threw her hands up. "That's not the point at all! What I want, Draco, is to be able to trust you, and I can't, now."

Draco went still. It hit him like a tonne of stones, that she'd said a thing like that. Had she been so upset about the potion? Hadn't seemed like it. Hadn't seemed like much of anything to her, as far as her behaviour.

Hermione would never understand Draco if she lived to be one hundred and fifty. He was looking at her with a look of shocked hurt, as though she'd slapped him. He blinked slowly, twice, and said "Love, I...but you know that isn't true."

"Yes, it is. Draco, that potion, it was...like a dementor. Nothing felt good. Nothing felt like anything." She, too was staring at the sea. 'And I told you that. And you didn't want to hear it."

Draco felt like he'd been dashed with cold water. "But you know I just wanted you to feel better, angel. That was the only reason."

"I felt fine before, Draco. I was grieving, is all."

Draco swallowed hard. "Yes, I know. But the medi-wizard said...it would be easier for us to bond if you weren't distracted with your grief. And then once we took you off, we thought...I thought...that you'd turn to me and feel better."

He held her tighter, like a child clutching a teddy bear to ward off a nightmare. He'd hurt her. Hadn't meant to, but he had. And now she didn't trust him. She still didn't understand why, precisely, but a tiny kernel opened inside him, the beginning of self awareness and, perhaps, a little empathy.

Hermione didn't really want to be held so tightly. But she could feel him under her, more tense than she'd ever felt him, and quiet, for a change. She could still feel anger boiling softly inside her, but rather than the impotent fury she'd lived on, this seemed deeper, mellowed by her sadness and her resolve. It was mature anger, anger she could use.

"Is there...can I...can this be fixed?" It had to be. Had to, because he couldn't live like this forever, with a woman who didn't trust him, didn't feel safe with him, didn't feel like he'd take care of her.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Draco. Honestly, I don't. But we need to make a workable plan, because we're in this no matter what we do."

"I don't...I don't want us just to have a plan, darling. I want us to be _married_. Like my parents are married." He wished desperately he could make her understand how he felt, give her all his happy memories of his parents, all the warm moments they'd shared as a family.

"You know what the first thing I remember is, Hermione?"

She didn't follow this turn in the conversation. "No."

"Waiting with Mother for Father to come home. I was sitting on the stairs with my dragon, and she came and set me in her lap. We waited, and when the door opened, I jumped up and ran to him, and he swung me up, and then he gave us both a kiss hello."

Draco was smiling as he remembered. Father had always had the safest arms, he remembered. And Mother's face had lit up as the door opened. He wanted that for them; someday their children would wait with baited breath for Father to come and kiss them, and Hermione would smile and be happy he was home. He began stroking her back again.

"Oh." Hermione tried to reconcile the Lucius Malfoy she'd seen at the Ministry with the one who'd swung a toddler on his hip and kissed him hello. She could believe that Narcissa and Lucius loved one another-she'd seen the looks that passed between them, and the comfortable silences.

She closed her eyes. That was what Draco wanted. As crudely as he'd gone about it, he seemed to be sincere. They were stuck in this marriage forever. She'd not precisely resigned herself, but she was past thinking she'd be saved from it.

"Let's try, Draco."

"Oh, darling." He pressed his face to her hair and breathed deeply. Blood was rushing to his limbs again, and he felt tremendously happy, almost giddy. But he knew, now, not to celebrate too quickly.

"I appreciate it, honestly." He kissed her cheek, purely a gesture of affection and pleasure. "May I presume to ask you a favour?"

"It depends." She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, cautious of what he might ask. Draco saw it and smiled gently. 'Next time you need to cry, love, would you send for me? I really do hate the idea of you crying all by yourself."

"All right."

He beamed. "Shall we have tea up here?"

"We could."

The elves set a table, giving one another significant glances. Master and Madam were having meals in private! Mating was sure to ensue! Leesy, smiling, appeared and offered fresh clotted cream, strawberries and fresh, soft scones. Hermione was surprised to feel a smile tug the corners of her mouth a little.

As soon as the elf had left, Hermione ate a strawberry and said 'Do you ever feel like the elves have an agenda?"

"Of course they do. They want us to have a baby." Draco took it so much for granted that it said it with the air of a man who's reminding his wife they have a dinner party to go to.

"What?"

"No, it's true. House elves love children." He nibbled a scone and then tasted the clotted cream, smiling. "The dairy elf is quite good, I'd say."

Hermione looked shell shocked. "You mean they're..."

"Trying to get us to have congress. So we'll have a baby. Didn't you realise before?"

"No. I just thought them odd."

"Well, that too. But that day we did lay together, the food was meant as an aphrodisiac."

Hermione was appalled, but a little amused, too. "I never imagined."

"Why do you think Leesy wants to bathe you and choose your clothes every day? She thinks you can't do it."

Hermione snorted. "That can't be."

"Is."

Draco ate more fruit for emphasis. "Your family really didn't have any servants? Not even a cook?" He frowned slightly, wondering whether they'd made his darling slop pigs or scrub clothes on rocks or something.

"No, but muggles have machines who do the hard work."

"Really? Like what?"

"Washing machines for clothes, hoovers to clean the rugs, coffee makers. It isn't as though it was hours and hours of hard labour a day."

"But you had to feed the pigs and such, didn't you? And scrub floors?"

Hermione snorted. "Draco, people don't live that way anymore. Our meat comes from the market and we clean the floors with a mop."

He sipped some tea. "I always thought muggles do everything by hand."

"A hundred years ago. We live very comfortably, Draco. Not like your family does, but well."

Draco wasn't a hundred percent sure he believed her. He tilted his head and made his voice very soft. "How did you know how to live on the run? I'd always rather assumed that, well, you knew all that because of the way you'd lived."

They'd been avoiding the war. Hermione set her saucer down and inhaled. "No. I brought a number of books with me. And I was a girl guide, you know."

"A what?"

"A girl guide." She explained the whole concept and Draco made a polite moue of distaste with his mouth. "Sleeping in fields? Cooking over a fire?"

"It was fun." Hermione smiled slightly, remembering her days living in the raw.

Draco was beyond appalled. His poor love! She needed to be protected and treated with care, not made to sleep in the mud. She'd doubtlessly got bug bites and all manner of nasty miasmas. And exposed to common people, as well.

"If you say it was. I personally consider anything lacking a feather bed to be intolerable primitive." It was such a _Malfoy_ thing to say that Hermione laughed. She hadn't done that in a very long time. It felt good.

Draco was immersed in that warm, glowing sense of well being. His Hermione was happy. He'd made her happy enough to laugh. He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but he couldn't bear the thought of ending the moment.

That hurt worse than anything. He wanted his kisses to be something that added to her pleasure, not something that might well detract from it. And he'd see it happen, too. Draco had once planned to kill a man, and this, compared with nearly murdering the greatest wizard of the age, should be a doddle.

Hermione picked up her cup just as Leesy appeared, smiling herself. "Leesy is bringing Master and Madam some more tea, with violet water." She poured them each a full cup and then, having put down some chocolates as well, vanished.

"I must say, this whole thing has a new cast now."

It was Draco's turn to laugh. "Does it? That's not the only reason, of course. They really do care about us deeply."

"I know. When I stopped letting the elf at Hogwarts tidy my things, she came crying to me every day for a month."

"I'm sure it did." They sat in silence for a moment, eating their tea and sipping the sweet, strong tisane.

Hermione felt a little giddy and slightly tired. "This is also an aphrodisiac, isn't it?"

"Oh yes."

"Will they ever stop?"

"Once we've had a baby or three."

Hermione put down her cup and shook her head to clear it. She was prepared to say something else, but Narcissa came in and abruptly sat down. "Neither of you must panic."

"Mother?" They hadn't seen her for three days, and it was unlike either of the elder Malfoys to burst in like this.

"Father has collapsed. St. Mungo's would not be safe. We've too many enemies for anyone to know he is not well."

Hermione felt her chest clench like a fist, but her voice sounded very calm to her own ears. "Will you take him home to the Manor?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Here. Even the Manor is not impervious."

Hermione was sitting very straight, like a proper lady. Draco felt affection and pride in her, knowing she couldn't like this, smelling it, but her face never betrayed it for a second. "Let us know how we might help."

Narcissa hugged her, and then Draco too. "It will all be all right, my loves."

Draco found he could believe that.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm back at Uni. Everything is fine, but it does mean updates will be slightly less frequent. Hope everyone is well.**

**Again, concrit is great :]**

_"The husband is as bound by duty to the family as we are to obedience to him."_

_Letters to Wives_

Part of Hermione was afraid Draco would faint when they brought Lucius in, so plae had he gone. Another part was busy making known how it felt about Malfoy Sr., Death Eaters on principal, and this whole stupid scenario. But the greatest part was calmly sure of what should be done. The helplessness and anger had given way to something new within her, but she still felt the need to be good and decent, no matter what.

"The Red Room, please, Rinky. And have hot water and more blankets ready if we should need them, if you would." Narcissa, face white as marble, nodded gratefully and sank into the nearest chair as though her legs wouldn't support her anymore.

"Mother?" Draco shook off the sheer horror of seeing Father that way and went to her, concerned that it had somehow spread. Narcissa smiled weakly. "Draco, it's all right. I'm just tired."

Draco nodded reluctantly but didn't step back. "Can we get you something?"

"No, love. I'd like a nap, if you'd not mind." Having lived through the horrors of the last two years, she'd thought that she and Lucius could, finally, enjoy some peace.

Proven wrong, she would see this to it's end-whatever that might be-with grace. And she was pleased to have some time to instruct Hermione; she could feel, she thought, hardness in the girl, such as had sustained her during her trials. She'd need it.

Hermione led her to a smallish room nearby, and Narcissa gave her a weary, still beautiful smile. "Thank you, love. You've been most gracious considering...everything." That was as close as Narcissa could stand to broaching the still painful topic of the string of recent events.

Hermione nodded her thanks. "We can't choose events, but we can choose our reactions to them."

Narcissa put her arms round Hermione, dropped her head and sighed deeply.

Hermione hugged back, more on reflex than anything. "Mother?"

"I'm sorry, love. I thought it better the men not see." She straightened and Hermione felt a flash of empathy for the woman, who'd always been decent to her. Narcissa was smoothing her robes.

"Sometimes all ladies have is one another." She turned and quietly closed the door behind herself. As Hermione walked away, she thought she could hear sobbing. She'd leave the woman her privacy, as it was the only thing she could give.

Draco sat next to the bedside and took his father's hand.

"Father, it's me. We're all here."

Lucius' eyelids fluttered. "Draco?"

"Yes, Father."

Lucius' lips quirked briefly upward. "There's my...boy." He lapsed into sleep, chest hardly moving. Azkaban had reached foul fingers into their lives even more than a year later. Lucius blearily resolved to find a way to fight this and then let himself drift into the black velvet of sleep.

Draco was accustomed to believing his father to be nearly immortal. Since he was smaller than he could remember, he'd thought Father the source of all wisdom, just as he sincerely believed his mother could make any problem better with a smile and comforting word.

His world had changed forever. He stayed by his father, silent, determined to run the family in his absence and be a credit to him. The medi-wizard (well, the new one) came in a great flap of bottle green robes and a smell like bitter loomwort salve and harsh yellow soap.

"Mr. Malfoy? Your father will be unconscious for some time. It might be best for you to see to other things for the moment." Draco gave the little peon a nasty look, prepared to unload on him verbally, but he remembered that Hermione was dealing with everything on her own and probably needed him.

"Very well, but you shall call myself and the mesdames Malfoy the second he stirs, understood?" The medi-wizard went a cheesy white and nodded quickly, remembering the stories about the Malfoys and their skills in Dark magic.

Draco padded through the inner keep, looking for his darling, and found nothing, not even idiot elves. He stalked down the stairs, his instincts demanding he find her before some other male did. Not that his human side was worried, really, but the blood was pounding in his veins all the same.

He finally found her in the kitchens, frowning gravely at a long list. "Precious? What's the matter?"

"Sorry? Oh, nothing. But I thought we should stock up on what we'll need." She showed him the list. "The elves made this so I could get a better idea of what to get."

He kissed her temple. "Excellent, love. Mother is well?"

"She's...had a fright, Draco. Let's let her rest."

"Quite. What can I do?"

Hermione held up a finger, checked a few things off the list, and handed it to the closest elf. "Very good, Lirry. Send them at once, if you would." The cook bowed and DisApparated to find her assistants and berate them on principal.

"Nothing. The elves know what we need. Maybe write some letters?"

"Could." Draco had half hoped to find her over her head, so he could step in and help her, and then she'd feel better. Instead, she was dealing with everything with disconcerting, almost masculine grace. He kissed her forehead almost without thought and then got an idea.

"Let's get some books."

"Books?"

"From the library. For Mother to look at."

"That's a good idea, Draco. What does she like?"

Draco took her arm and Apparated them. "Lady things, I suppose. Flowers and sunsets. Let's dig round and see what we can find."

For her own part, Narcissa briskly rose from the bed and changed into a clean robe, calling Hermione's maid to help. She went and sat beside her husband, shooing the medi-wizard out with a single well placed look.

Lucius fought his way back to conciousness with the sweet feeling of his wife's soft hand in his. He forced an eye open. "Cissy?"

"Lucius?"

"What time is it?"

"Nearly evening." She felt her heart contract painfully, seeing him there, long body seemingly thinner under the big robes. She'd always loved how safe she felt when he embraced her. She was tall for a woman, Narcissa, but Lucius dwarfed her all the same. Only Goyle Sr. and Greyback had been taller than he.

"What happened?"

"You've had a heart spasm of some kind." He smiled up a her and tried to move so she could lie down, annoyed when his head buzzed painfully and he couldn't give her room.

"How long shall I be this way?"

"I don't know, love. Not long."

He didn't ask what had caused it. They both knew. Instead, he asked his wife to climb next to him and she did, and he held her. Lucius had loved Narcissa since he was fifteen. He still loved her, but as they aged, he realised anew every day what a really fine woman she was, how much he needed her.

"Draco and Hermione?"

"Fine as well. She's a good girl." The fact of her unfortunate birth hovered between them like a pall of smoke. Lucius closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Draco...is doing so well."

"He is. He was well taught, I'd say." She kissed her husband's cheek and he tried to make his hand come up to stroke her face. Failed.

"They'll be all right."

"I daresay." Lucius shut his eyes and savoured his wife, smelt her perfume and thought that it would all be worth it to see her happy again. And Draco, the person Lucius loved most in the whole world. And even the girl. It had taken courage for her to behave kindly toward him; as he went back to sleep, Lucius resolved to reward her for it someday.

Narcissa firmly insisted that Draco and Hermione eat supper without her. She wanted to stay with Father, she said, and anyway, they needed to keep normal as much as possible. But she was very glad of the books, and felt touched they'd thought of her.

Neither of them had much of an appetite. The elves were most displeased, and vented their displeasure by hinting more and more heavily that Master and Madam is eating now.

When an elf came and said that Master Lucius was awake, Draco jumped up and ran out without another word. Hermione asked the elves to cover the plates and followed, Apparating herself.

Lucius was indeed awake. Lying propped by pillows, he smiled at his son as Draco came and sat down. "Father? What can I do?"

"Nothing, Draco. I do wish everyone would stop fussing."

Narcissa hmmph'd delicately and adjusted her husband's pillow. "We aren't fussing, love, we want you to be comfortable."

"I feel fine. Just tired."

Draco frowned. "Used to scold me when I'd pretend not to be sick when I was young."

" I also taught you to respect your elders, and we see how well that took, you insolent brat." Lucius' eyes belied his words and Draco chuckled. Lucius raised his head as much as he could and made his voice as persuasive as he could.

"Cissy, why don't you take a walk with Hermione?"

Narcissa stood and extended a hand to her daughter in law. "Let's go and have some tea, hmmm?"

As soon as the men were alone, Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son. "Draco?"

"Yes, Father."

"You seem to smell very much like my cologne."

"Err...I suppose, Father."

"Suppose?"

"Yes, sir. Would you like some water?"

"Thank you, no. How goes it with your wife?"

Draco sighed. "Wish I knew. She's always very polite."

"That's not a word I associate with marriage, love. 'Polite'."

"She is, though."

"I take it that means the intimacy is lacking."

"Yes, Father. Not from lack of trying on the elves' parts."

"Slipping you aphrodisiacs, are they?"

"All the time. If they made aphrodisiac soap, I've no doubt the elves would conspire to make both of us bathe a hundred times daily."

Lucius snorted. "Have you, ah..."

"Once."

"And she wasn't upset?"

"No." Draco's face said something worse had happen, and Lucius decided to leave that subject for the moment. 'If anyone can handle this, Draco, it's you."

Draco flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Father."

"Though you've your faults. Your unrepentant theft of my grooming products, for one."

"Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, Father."

Lucius laughed softly and decided to nap a bit more. "Let the ladies finish their chat, Draco." So he did.

As it happened, Narcissa was asking Hermione much the same. "Once?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Darling, I appreciate how unpleasant it is, but you do understand that it will take more than one time to make a baby?" Narcissa discreetly summoned her maid and sent for something from a trunk in her rooms.

"Yes, of course. But I just can't right now."

"Oh? Are you sick?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't stand the thought of giving up that much control right now."

Narcissa frowned. "Control? Darling, all you need do is lie there. Draco would never hurt you." She gave the girl a pat on the arm. Hermione's eyes were distant, sad, almost.

"He tells me that a lot, actually."

"See? Have you discussed it with him?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Narcissa decided not to pry further. She handed her daughter in law the book she'd sent for and smiled. "You can always talk to me, Hermione. And here's something that should help you. It did me."

Hermione thanked her and flipped the book over. "Letters to wives."

"This was written by my husband's great grandmother, Virgillia Crabbe Malfoy."

Hermione looked at the densely printed blocks of words, with headings like 'Duty' and 'Obedience' and felt an instant dislike forming in her heart for the woman who'd written this.

"There's a very good chapter in there about...those things...and perhaps you can read it and then we'll talk it over, how does that sound?"

Hermione made herself nod. "I will." She'd read it and refute every point, if she had had to. She felt a thrill in her blood. She'd had very little intellectual stimulation in the past few weeks; the idea of a challenge appealed to her immensely.

Narcissa kissed her cheek and rose. "Good night, love."

"Good night, Mother."

When Draco came back, his wife was sitting at the table with a fresh piece of parchment and a pen, making notes, referencing, muttering to herself. He came and kissed the top of her head.

"Aren't we busy?"

"Mmm."

"What's this you're working on, darling?" Probably some cute little poem he'd praise effusively. But not too much-couldn't have her getting ideas about publishing, could he?

"A refutation of 'Letters to Wives'."

Draco blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your mother gave it to me and I've decided to refute it."

"Precious...' he didn't know what to say. 'Wouldn't you rather read a nice novel?"

Hermione shook her head. "I feel more useful than I have in a long time."

"Everything you do is useful, angel. Couldn't run the house without you."

Hermione didn't answer. Her quill scratched steadily, and once or twice she frowned or laughed a little. Draco felt both impressed and slightly afraid, watching her. It was probably a bad idea to let Hermione do this, he knew at a deep level. She'd struggled so much with adjusting that he should insist she read it as it was written, as a guide to help her understand.

But she seemed at peace. Could he take that from her? He'd spent so long trying to make her happy, and now it seemed she was. She put down her quill, rose, yawning, and went behind her little dressing screen. Leesy appeared to undress her, and five minutes later Hermione was in bed, looking deeply satisfied.

Draco felt a deep pleasure at how satisfied Hermione was looking. He crawled in after her to give her a kiss. 'Going to bed?"

"Yes. My parents were scheduled to come tomorrow. I've told them what happened, so we'll do it another time."

Draco's eyes prickled. "Angel, that is so sweet of you." He meant it, too. Had it been him, he would have invoked the promise made and insisted. He slid her into his arms and rocked. Poor darling, she was being so brave about the whole thing.

"Shall we get some tea to help you sleep?" Hermione shook her head, forcing down the panic she felt at the suggestion. Draco realised a second too late what he'd said and kissed her forehead by way of apology.

"Shall I rub your back, then?" It always put him right to sleep when he was small. Hermione nodded and laid down, letting her eyes close. Draco's hand ghosted lightly between her shoulder blades and rubbed.

As soon as she was sleeping, Draco tiptoed over to look at where her little response was sitting to on the table to dry. Hermione was very bright, of course, but she lacked a male's understanding of how the world worked, of course.

He sat down and spelled the candles low so as not to wake her. He'd humour this a while and then find something else for her to do. She'd get bored, anyway. He wished Mother could take her shopping; that would distract her. And he wanted to buy her something sparkly.

His eyes scanned what she'd written. His heart beat was slowing. This was...oh. She'd demolished the points made. Every presumption, every assertion not based strictly on statistics, she'd ripped the threads of it apart like unravelling a jumper.

Draco set it down where it had been and donned his nightclothes. He felt disturbed that she'd known instinctively what to do- everyone knew masculine and feminine intelligence was different.

Wasn't it?


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**This is intended as a comic interlude. My personal life is not great right now, and I needed some humour. If you're disappointed, I totally understand.**

** Serious plot movement next time, I promise.**

**Madea**

After tolerating this nonsense a few days, the elves held another meeting. Also present was the nasty cat that Madam, unaccountably, seemed fond of. Clustered about the fireplace in the kitchen, Lirry waited until they'd all assembled to start.

"Master and Madam is proving resistant." All ten nodded, and the nasty cat yawned and licked his forepaw meditatively.

"We is perhaps giving them more potions?"

Minky shook his head. "They is being noticing soon."

"We is hiding their clothing, then? Having to be mating to keep warm?" This seemed somewhat more viable, and the various pros and cons were discussed. Ultimately, they could just order them brought back.

The cat rose and stretched, throwing his head. Stupid elves, had they thought to try staring impassively? It stood to reason that, if it could stop humans mating, perhaps it would also work in reverse, and the humans would mate to get them to stop?

This idea, once conveyed with a series of swats, grumbles, and strategic tail gestures, was held to be surprising clever. The elves nodded at one another and agreed to shelve the idea for further consideration.

Next, Leesy stepped forward to deliver a report about the state of Madam's frail, delicate, to be carefully monitored and guarded health. "Madam is being writing refusal."

"Refusal of what?"

Leesy shrugged and calmly passed the refutation around the circle. The elves scanned it gravely, until Tippy, who was the oldest elf in the room, shrieked with horror and fainted. The other elves quickly picked her off the butcher's block and doused her in water, slapping her cheeks to wake her up.

"Why is Leesy allowing this to be happening?" The other elves turned and studied Leesy.

"What is we doing, taking pen away?"

The elves nodded sagely and looked back to Tippy: house elves tend to hate and distrust one another, and so this was a welcome diversion. Tippy moaned and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh! Oh! Ruining us all! Oh!"

"Is just refusal! Stupid Tippy, being worried about nothing!"

"Stupid Leesy, not seeing problem when is being right there!"

The issue was discussed at greater length. "Is being...different. Not good."

"Not what we is being used to."

"Madam is hurting herself."

"Too much excitement."

The cat flicked his tail. His Girl liked excitement; the problem was that she smelt unhappy, and the Male was stalking about like a tom cat on the prowl. Most annoying, when Crookshanks felt he'd occupied that role most suitably.

"If Madam is being writing, is not mating."

There was the crux of the problem. The elves, frowning, settled on the various surfaces about the room and gave this some thought.

Hermione woke up, stretched, and briskly sat up, feet swung over the side almost before her eyes were really open. Beside her, Draco muttered sleepily. "H'm'ne?"

"I'm going to write, Draco. It's all right."

He grunted a response and then flipped onto his side. As long as he could sense her presence near to him, he was content. He burrowed back under the warm robes and surrendered to sleep.

Hermione knew immediately her papers had been moved. After brushing her teeth and pulling on a heavy wrapper, she'd sat to find them seeming shuffled. Her eyes flicked to Draco and she felt a small wire of guilt-for all he clearly didn't like it much, he'd never said anything against what she was doing.

The elves, then? Almost as though she'd read Hermione's mind, Leesy appeared with a hot cup of tea. Hermione smiled politely. "Leesy, my papers have been moved."

Leesy said nothing. "Madam is being cold? More logs on the fire?"

"Did you move my papers, Leesy?"

"Yes, Madam. More logs?"

"Please. Why would you do that?"

Leesy ordered one of the maids to put more logs on. "Had to move them for cleaning. Though Madam would be preferring Leesy do it, not maids." Which was wholly true; she simply didn't mention that she'd borrowed them a while.

Hermione nodded. "Oh." She set to work, using her well marked copy of Narcissa's book (easily removed with magic, of course) to find her place and continue. She sipped her tea, cooed at Crooks when he came in, looking smug, and then kept on steadily.

She had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Setting down her pen, she looked round, frowning. Nothing. Strange. Crookshanks had settled on the ottoman, and he, too, was watching her with a sort of unblinking intensity.

"What's wrong, Crooks? Do you want a belly rub?"

Crookshanks snorted. He did, but he would forgo it for a moment in order the further the alliance between himself and the elves. Why must humans be so difficult? Why didn't the male simply sing a little so she'd know her felt amorous and they could get on with it?

Hermione clucked and Crookshanks jumped into her lap and nuzzled her a moment, rubbing his scent on her and gently gnawing her hair a bit. Then he jumped down and determinedly approached the bed, burrowing under the covers and giving the male a smack on the knee with his forepaw.

Hmm, still not enough. Crookshanks decided that greater attention getting was in order, and decided to use the strongest trick in his arsenal. A second later, Draco sat up in bed and yelped loudly.

"OWW!"

"Draco? What happened?"

Draco groaned. "The cat clawed me!"

"Let me see." Draco tugged up his nightshirt to show the massive gash on his leg, which he felt sure was bleeding, at least. Draco waited for sweet feminine sympathy from his wife. Instead, Hermione snorted.

"Draco, this is hardly a scratch. You must've rolled over on his tail."

"Me? I'm the victim!"

"Draco, he didn't even break skin."

Crookshanks, who'd been hoping that focusing his Girl's attention on the proper part of the male's anatomy would get the proverbial ball rolling, grunted his disgust and rolled on his side, pointedly ignoring them.

"Well, it's awfully high up, is all I'm saying."

Hermione laughed. "You'll live."

"No doubt, probably in pain."

"Honestly." Hermione yielded to temptation and climbed back under the covers. Draco immediately tugged her closer. "Now, this is more like it."

The change writing had made in his wife was unbelievable. She seemed so much...lighter? Less in her own head? Draco kissed her cheek and then buried his face in her hair, completely content, the wound the foul orange beast had given him notwithstanding.

Hermione still wasn't quite sure she liked it, but with an outlet for her feelings, she could tolerate it much more easily. Draco was just holding her, clearly relaxed and comfortable.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Mother'd like to go shopping soon. Are you up for that?"

Hermione was quiet a moment. "I'm not a shopping person."

Draco wanted to argue that every woman was, if given a chance, a shopping person, but given what he'd read, he wasn't exactly sure that was true. Instead, he smiled charmingly.

"I know, but she needs a distraction."

"I'll certainly go and keep her company."

"Would you? I'd be grateful." They lay in silence a while, until Draco abruptly wondered something.

"Hermione?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't muggles have books like that?"

"Sorry?"

"Like Letters to Wives and Mrs. Leek."

"They did."

"Don't now?"

"Not for a hundred years."

Draco thoughtfully nodded. "So who taught you about being married?"

"My parents. They've a very happy marriage."

"Oh." Draco wondered what a happy muggle marriage looked like. Probably they sat round and worked and never got to do anything fun or go anywhere.

"And my grandparents, when I was younger. They've both died, now."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Hermione nodded her appreciation and sighed, wondering...she pushed the thought away. All the she could do was go ahead, and forget what might have been.

"How would...I mean...they're happy you've married so well? Your parents?"

Hermione shrugged. "They've never said."

"Well, no, but I'd think they'd be thrilled." Draco restrained himself from making a nasty remark about the Weasleys and the poverty Hermione would surely have endured had she married that idiot.

"They want me to be happy, is all." Hermione didn't like this conversation, and Draco, smelling the change in her emotions, wisely left the subject alone.

"You said you wanted muggle books sent. What are they?"

"Fiction, some of them' she said, naming half a dozen. They meant absolutely nothing to Draco, of course, except when she mentioned one and said, slightly embarrassed, 'Just for sentimental reasons."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"It's fairy stories. A children's book."

Draco felt intrigued. "Are they much different than ours, would you say?"

Hermione considered. "No, not very. I really treasure this particular version, because Nan gave it to me when I was a baby."

"We'll have it sent, then. What else?"

Hermione listed a few others, and, because they meant nothing to him, he simply nodded again. "If you'd like them, darling." Making her happy, he was learning, was a matter of allowing her the things that mattered in her mind; books, her cat, contact with her parents.

At some level, Draco wanted her to want things he could give her because he liked the idea. Why didn't she ever ask him for anything? He wished she would. It would be nice to give her something purely silly, something totally frivolous. Hermione, though, didn't really do frivolous.

And she truly wasn't like any woman he'd ever known. Except, perhaps, Mother, a little. Not so much externally, but he thought, sometimes, that there was something similar in them. Something practical and comfortingly no nonsense. Something _hard_, almost.

As he did with things that troubled him, Draco pushed it away and gave his wife a kiss. "Go and write the letter, love, if you like." Hermione beamed and, to his total surprise, pecked his cheek lightly before she rose and went to dash something off.

Twenty minutes later Hermione was holding a parcel of books, courtesy of her father and the elf she'd sent, judging the parcel much too heavy for Phoebe. Draco was immensely gratified, seeing how in her element Hermione was, how delighted by the things she'd got. Part of him wanted to pout a little-they weren't anything special, after all.

She pulled her fairy stories from the box and handed them to him. Draco settled against the headboard and flipped the book open. 'Little Red Riding Hood'?"

Hermione murmured and set the rest of the books aside, an elf having appeared to put them up. She rose and let the wrapper fall, padding across the floor in just her nightgown. 'May I use your dressing room to bathe, Draco?"

"I'd be happy to let you have some privacy right here, darling."

"It's all right, you're settled."

Draco gave her a smile and then, a shadow crossing his face. "Hermione, do you feel like we're being watched?"

Hermione nodded. "I do. I thought I was just being silly."

"Hmm. Well, everything's been out of sorts lately."

"That must be it."

She called Leesy and departed for her bath. Crookshanks huffed noisily and settled on his back next to Draco's side, intimating his belly was available for a rub. Draco complied without thinking, having been well trained.

Crookshanks trilled a thank you and moved closer, giving Draco's ear a companionable nip and then moving down a little, demonstrating technique in case the singing should go amiss.

Speaking of which, he sat back, opened his mouth and warbled a few notes to show the proper way to attract a female. Draco set the book down and looked at the cat. 'You sick? Please don't be sick, I'll never be able to cheer her up then."

In a roundabout way, the plan worked, as Hermione, wrapped in a towel, darted from the dressing room. 'Draco, is Crookshanks all right?"

"Seems to be. Maybe he felt musical this morning."

"He's never done that before. Perhaps we should give him some fish oil in his food."

"If you'd like." Draco was surreptitiously studying Hermione from half lowered eyelids. She looked so sweet, flushed from the warm water and smelling fragrant and wonderfully clean.

He sighed as she turned round to go back, Leesy fretting every second that Madam would catch cold. As soon as the door had slid shut, Draco become uncomfortably aware of a problem.

The cat was eyeing him. And lying on his pillow, the little bastard. Draco growled with frustration and unceremoniously hoisted him onto the bed. 'I'm checking my loafers for wee when I get up, really I am."

The cat huffed and rolled onto his back again. Draco stroked his chest as he read. 'This stories are horrible. Ugh, no wonder she's so serious. Probably think talking wolves and things are round every corner."

Crookshanks was too annoyed by the lack of gumption on the part of the male to say much. He grumbled and drifted off, snoring softly. Draco read a few more stories and then called for his own tub and clean things to be readied the second Hermione was out.

Cheeks pink, she came from the dressing room, and Draco gave her a wink as they passed one another. "Think of what you might like to do when we're through, love."

Leesy helped Hermione into her under things and then a deep lilac dress, with a darker purple robe on top.

"Leesy?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Have you been feeling watched? Master and I both have."

Leesy took up the pins. "No, not feeling watched, Madam. Perhaps is being lonely?"

Hermione looked away for a moment. "Not lonely, precisely. But it's been hard."

Leesy didn't say anything. When Madam was ready, she'd finally let herself grieve. She wasn't prepared yet, was all.

"Babies is being good for loneliness."

Hermione snorted. "It would hardly be right for me to have a child just to make myself feel better."

"Madam is not having to take care of it. Leesy is finding nurse for baby, yes, nurse elf."

Hermione tried not to laugh and sobered almost as quickly. "Maybe once..." Once what? Once she'd adjusted to the fact he'd ask her again someday soon? Once she'd stopped trying to find a way out?

_Now_ she felt lonely. A few tears trickled down her cheeks and she dashed them away. Leesy immediately began to sob, begging forgiveness for having upset Madam. Hermione swallowed and made herself swallow, asked Leesy to give her some water to drink.

When Draco came out twenty minutes later, Hermione was fully dressed and snuggling the cat, who'd gone to sleep with his head on her arm. Draco went to his wardrobe and tipped up every shoe one at the time, frowning gravely.

Crookshanks opened one eye and gave a pointed mutter as Draco, looking sour, approached the bed. 'Lucky for you they were all dry."

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Honestly, you two."

"He started with me."

"Draco, he's a cat."

"That's what you say. I'm not convinced."

"Convinced of what?"

"Anything having to do with that forsaken creature. Now, love, what shall we do today?"

Hermione gently settled Crooks on the bed. "Explore some more?"

"Could, certainly."

As they prepared to go to breakfast, Draco gave Crookshanks a glare, which the half kneazle did not deign to return. Instead, he haughtily cocked his head and sneezed. The elves, who'd been hidden, trying the staring idea, quietly left in ones and twos..

Alone, Crookshanks felt a bit of smugness as he prepred for a nap. The male could be bitter all he liked, but Crookshanks knew his methods worked; which of them had got the Girl to come out in just a towel, again?


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**'The double grief of a lost joy is to remember it again in sorrow.'-Dante Aligheri**

******That said, I've been very blessed to have so much support from people, both online and IRL, during this difficult time. Thank you all very much-I truly appreciate it.**

Their descent this time was less fraught. Draco wondered what his wife was thinking; her face gave nothing. She swept along in lavender scented silence, as the dour Mrs. Leek and even Virgilia Malfoy would have approved of her doing.

"Hermione?"

She turned to him and lifted an eyebrow gracefully. He bent and pressed his head to her neck for a second. "I am so glad you're well again, darling."

"Thank you."

Hermione was little inclined to talk. She felt herself sliding into a sort of deep thoughtfulness, which wasn't so much sadness as memory, and the deeper they travelled into the castle's belly, the more it sat upon her.

Crookshanks joined them, walking nearly under Hermione's skirts, watching his Girl and hoping the male would finally get the damned clew. He doubted it-as a cat, Crookshanks was a natural cynic of the highest order.

The cellars were as they had been left. Draco waited, permitting Hermione to choose. She frowned, brow furrowing, and then led them for the cells. They were mostly bare and empty, but Hermione threw open the door of the first one and stepped fearlessly inside.

"Shall we call an elf with a candle?"

Draco shook his head. "Minky, go and get Madam's wand, please."

Hermione had gone still. 'Truly, Draco?"

"Unless you don't want it?" There was a gentle, teasing note in his voice, and Hermione startled them both by gasping and then flinging her arms about him, laughing. Draco felt so happy he thought it had made him drunk. He lifted her and they sat on the narrow bench as the elf handed back Hermione's wand.

Hermione swished crisply and the cell was lit up, nearly as bright as day. Draco gasped a little and chuckled. The cat, emerging from the shadows, sniffed haughtily, showing he felt unimpressed. And then, because he was always proud of his Girl, he deigned to chase the light a bit.

Another swish closed the door. Holding the light, Hermione studied the room. The walls were stone, but the door was wood, and it had been richly carved, dense with numbers and names and inscriptions.

Draco gently let his darling go and went to look things over. He ran a finger over the words and bits of doggerel. "This is..."

Hermione shivered, feeling herself in the presence of those who'd carved bits of themselves on the door of this place. Draco was trying to translate the bits and bobs that were modern enough.

"Wonder what they did."

Hermione squatted beside him. "Carew' she read aloud 'Lonngebotom' and, to Hermione's surprise 'Poter'. She lifted excited eyes to Draco, and he realised anew just how different she was, and how strange, in some ways, compared to every woman he'd ever known before her.

"Are these..."

"Yes, of course. Carew, they changed it later to Carrow."

"And the others?"

"Mmm, I'd have to check. Edmond Longbottom, I'd think. They called him 'Hot Broom'."

"1486, wasn't it? Second trollish incursion?"

"Quite. Newcastle to York in just under a day."

Hermione shook her head and moved onto the next one. 'Wynter ys Comming'.

'House Lestrange, that one."

Hermione shivered and moved quickly away, as Draco slid a hand into hers. 'Is this upsetting you, love?"

"Not at all. Just...shall we check the next one?" She rose briskly and they left the cell behind them. Draco didn't like the cells-they smelt too strongly for his tastes, and he could perceive something troubling to him, though he wasn't sure what.

"I'd rather look at the curios, wouldn't you?"

Hermione could tell something was bothering-he still hadn't let go of her hand-and though she might have preferred to keep reading the etchings in the doors, her native compassion demanded she lead them toward the curio-room.

Draco liked this much better. It wasn't a terribly large room, but it pleased them both well enough, and it was less apt to disturb. He wished now he'd taken runes; it was irksome not to be able to translate for himself.

Hermione, grinning like a child on Christmas morning, promptly went to one of the cabinets and opened it. It was stuffed brimful with all sorts of things- cloth and feathers, rugs and taxidermy birds and bones on boards and at least one huge, glistening rock of the sort muggles call quartz and wizards 'dragon's tears'. Draco smiled at Hermione's unselfconscious pleasure and picked up the first thing that came to hand.

They spent at least two hours shifting and sorting, not so much cataloguing as simply exploring side by side, like children playing in the sand. At various times, elves crept down and hovered, silent and invisible, to report back to their comrades that the Master and Madam were still, lamentably, clothed.

As for Crookshanks, he found a comfortable pile of feathers and dozed, his breathing bestiring the long plumes with every dense exhalation. In his sleep, he flopped on his back and oozed, an orange coloured puddle, over his end of the table.

"He really is a wretched cat, you know."

"No, he isn't! Crooks is a wonderful cat."

"It's as though Goyle has taken up residence at the end of the bed. They snore alike, they grumble constantly, and they spend all their time searching for food."

Hermione sniffed. "Crookshanks has better table manners."

"True. And he's never got chocolate finger prints all over my notes." He shot the cat a look, which was ignored. Draco was currently studying a delicate bowl, carved from a single translucent sea shell.

"Look at this." Hermione's slight smile had dropped away entirely, as she handed Draco something, a little book. He frowned and opened it. It was inked wholly in dense, almost impenetrable scrawls.

"Strange."

She took it back, opened to the first page and scanned. "It's a diary."

"I don't know how you can stand to read that."

"We had to learn as part of runes. In manuscripts from this period, one can see how runes impacted everyday written English."

Draco felt keenly the great shame it was that Hermione had not been a man. She might have done so much! That such an intellect was wasted on a woman...he shoved the thought aside. He adored his wife, and was glad she was smart. But would it didn't make her so unhappy.

Hermione had forgot he was there. She was frowning ever harder as she read, and Draco finally put a hand on her arm. "Darling?"

"His son."

"Sorry?"

"Something had happened to his son. The man who wrote this."

"Oh. Does it say what?"

"No. Only that he thinks the son will die."

Draco wondered whether this was suitable reading for a lady. But it was a small thing, and an easy one, and could it find it in himself to deny her a treat that would cost no one anything?

"Why don't you take it upstairs when we go, and we'll read it together?"

Hermione was surprised when she found herself liking the idea. "I could...show you how to read it."

Draco wondered whether that might be a bit far. He was supposed to instruct her, not vice versa. But suppose she should come across something that upset her, and he couldn't read to know what it was? Or something down here?

"All right." If nothing else, it would distract her from this silliness with refuting the Letter. Though she'd stuck with it longer than he might have thought, and was making disturbing progress, from what he could tell.

Draco brushed hair from her forehead. "I should like that." What he'd like was for his wife to be happy, and he was, ever so very slowly, coming to understand her terms for it. And he was surprised by how far he'd go to gratify her, when it all seemed so easy and basic.

Crookshanks snored and kicked one stubby leg as he pounced dream mice, and was victorious, and praised by his Girl. One eye opened, and he snorted to bring attention to the fact his belly was unscratched.

Draco took up the feather and ticked the cat's chin with it. "Come along, cat, nearly time for dinner."

Hermione rose, and, summoning an elf to put things away, they went back to their rooms. She still felt huge guilt about the elves, but the more she came to understand them, the less she felt she understood them at all.

Narcissa and Lucius were in their room, Lucius in the bed. 'Darlings!"

"Mother, Father, Hermione's found something."

The book was duly passed around, and then dinner commenced, on trays. Lucius was growing quite grumpy with what he perceived as foolish mollycoddling, and amused himself by trying to make the nervous and very young healer flustered. He was sure he could reduce the boy to tears if he tried.

"Now, darling, you mustn't frighten the poor thing so."

"As though I would? Remember how your mother was when she got that attack of pthia?"

"She was...unco-operative, perhaps, but it was hardly like her. We should remember her as she was, at her best."

Lucius flicked his eyes to his son and heir. 'That _was_ her best.' He mouthed, and Draco snorted helplessly, agreeing. Narcissa raised an eyebrow at them both and decided to exclude them from the conversation as punishment.

"Hermione, darling, I should like to go shopping tomorrow. Would that suit?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Lovely. The carriage will take us to Paris at, oh, ten AM?"

Hermione's brows shot up. "Paris?"

"Yes, darling. Much nicer for clothes shopping than Diagon Alley, I find."

Hermione shook her head a little. "There's very good museums there, as well."

Narcissa cocked her head. "Oh? Muggle museums?"

"Yes. A famous art museum, palaces-well, the main one's at Versailles, but some very good medieval buildings, at any rate. And..." Hermione trailed off, suddenly wondering why everyone had got so quiet.

"That's really very...interesting, love. You've seen all these things?"

"Yes, of course."

Draco felt for Hermione. He didn't understand why she'd care about these things, but clearly she did. Which, he supposed, made a sort of sense. And it kept her busy, which pleased him even more.

"I should like to go." His parents stopped and studied him. So, for that matter, did Hermione. He could see a cool, hard appraisal in her gaze-she thought he meant to mock her, perhaps.

"Why don't you, then, Draco?" Lucius laid back and gave his son a look that was meant to show him that wasn't, especially, a optional thing-he'd seen his daughter in law acting excited for the first time ever, and he fully intended his son should jump on this opportunity.

"I shouldn't leave you, Father."

"Bah! You're all treating me like an invalid."

"Lucius, darling..." Narcissa pressed his hand quickly and Lucius pressed back, relaxing under her smile. 'We just worry."

"Don't. Go and have fun. Shop a bit and then sight see." Narcissa understood and her look changed a little, almost imperceptibly. Her own eyes slid to the children, to the fact their marriage was consummated but hardly enjoyed, and the grandchildren it would be pleasant to have.

"If you really don't mind..."

"Not at all. The cat and I are locked in a bitter struggle for supremacy as regards my pillow, and perhaps we can come to some sort of truce in the absence of all others."

"Mmm, I shouldn't count on it. That cat is some sort of evil genius." Draco joined his father in staring at the otherwise indifferent Crookshanks.

"I'm willing to concede him napping rights, but only until after supper."

Hermione giggled. "Crooks is a good boy, aren't you, love?"

Crookshanks miaowed his agreement and marched to his pillow, burrowing next to the Sick Man, snuggling close. Lucius huffed loudly but made no move to dislodge the insolent creature.

"I'd say your terms have been rejected, Father."

"Really? I had not noticed." Anyone else hearing Lucius' cold, drawling voice might have winced, but Draco grinned, clearly loving the banter. Lucius, too, was looking almost playful.

After the meal was done, the children retired to nap and Narcissa climbed in next to her husband. The cat was still sleeping on his other side, and Lucius couldn't help but feel a little pleased at the way the beast had cheered the whole house.

"Lucius?"

"Narcissa?"

"Was I too hard on Hermione? I didn't mean to make her feel bad. I just can't believe she'd pass up shopping in Paris for dusty old muggle ruins and paintings."

"I shouldn't think. And it is odd."

"I was proud of Draco, pretending to want to come with us."

Lucius nodded and relaxed into his pillow. "He's such a good boy."

"Like his father."

"I was never as restrained as he."

Narcissa giggled. "I remember. I don't know whether to pity Hermione or feel glad she's spared the fatigue."

Lucius opened one eye. "You never complained."

"No."

And he proved his heart was not terribly weak, after all. Not that his wife would let him out of bed after, all the same.

In their rooms, Draco and Hermione were likewise under the robes. Hermione had opened the diary and was reading it aloud.

Draco, in his life, had known little emotional upset of a lasting kind. The summer of sixth year had been, to say the least, an awakening. Even now, Hermione had had the right of it when she suggested he'd lost little compared to the way others-and she herself-had fared.

But as his wife read, he could feel it in her. She'd never really grieved, he thought sometimes. Never put up her hands and declared she'd go no further until the great monstrous pain had abated, never cursed fate or screamed or cried at the injustice.

Rather, she'd tried to resolve it, and when she could not, she'd simply gone inside herself, like a hermit crab. Now that the first tentative feelers had been pushed from the shell, he wondered when the grief would come. If it would come.

"Hypatos Black, is the name."

Draco nodded and closed his eyes, relaxing, looking forward to the day he could read it to her and not the other way round.

Almost as soon as she'd started,, Hermione found herself wanting to stop.

"_Every place I looke I do seerch but se himm not. What fate moer creule than this on, to bee so cloose and ytt soo far, to wish to speeke but can not? To se himm but have himm not, and I so olde and sicke, and himm but hardly a man, and neere to death?_'

It seemed obscene, not right, to read something so personal and painful this way. But she found she couldn't stop-at some level, she wanted to give voice to his pain, to allow it to be spoken again as a gesture of respect, of kinship and shared sorrow.

_'I doo but crye his name, and non answeres me. It were my falt. Wud hees mothr weere heer, that shee might southe his payne. But shee has gonne wheer all muste goo. I goo not, but bide, wayting.'_

Hermione understood. She felt ravaged, the hard layer of her heart pulled open and the soft, beating meat exposed, the pain she'd refused to admit she was in. As she knew his sorrow, Hypatos Black would understand hers, the loss, the way the world would not reshape itself around the hole caused by the absence of love and loved one, the sense that nothing would ever feel quite right again.

Abruptly, she slammed shut the book and put it on the nightstand.

Draco reached up to cup her cheek. "Love?"

"I'm fine." She wasn't. Draco sighed softly and pulled her against him, murmuring, patting. He could say nothing- instinctively, he knew all he could do was let his ancestor's agonies speak to Hermione directly, pain to pain.

Hermione was surprised to find that she felt all right, letting it out, finally. The more she concentrated on what she had read the more it hurt, but it was strangely soothing, a sort of cleansing pain which made her want to share it.

"Everything's changed."

"Shhhh. Yes, it has. I'm sorry, darling. So sorry. Shhh." What was he apologising for, exactly? He wasn't sure. He wasn't precisely sure she knew either, but he thought that this was some sort of start, at least.

Hermione cried until she was too tired to do anything else. Then she slept, and Draco, feeling relieved that she'd finally opened up ever so slightly, drifted off as well.

They slept a very long time, and woke nearly at the same time. Hermione came up a moment after Draco, and found him playing with a tendril of her hair, wrapping it round his finger gently, a look of absolute pleasure on his face. Hermione felt light and clean and empty inside. The pain would return, she knew. Perhaps grieving is resolved not when their is an absence of pain, but we've learnt finally to live with it, until we've grown round it like ivy.

She hadn't grown round it, not yet, but someday she would. And this was a start. Draco's eyes lit up, seeing that she was awake. "Better, angel?"

"No. But it's a start."

Draco only meant to kiss her cheek, really. He knew she was too vulnerable, too fragile right not to risk anything more than chaste affection. But she felt so good under him, and had been so happy, and he was eighteen and alive in a way that only the very young can be, before the polish of life is dulled by cruel reality.

His mouth found hers and Hermione accepted it, still empty, still light. It was fine. She was not nearly ready to grieve for Ron-grieve what might have been between them, the children they would never have, the pillow talk, the shared bottles of wine- but what had happened that day had opened her to it, eventually.

But that was far from them, in their bed, in their room, watched by unseen elves. Draco got up on hands and knees and Hermione silently opened her legs to him, an invitation borne of no feeling, but a deep gratitude for emptiness and the sweet lack of anything but the moment.

It still hurt, but like the weeping, it was a start, and the pain seemed to give hope for better things to come. And the elves were well pleased, and wept, and danced, and the castle and it's people were, blessedly, free for an hour simply to exalt in warm flesh and silence.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**'Time is the justice that examines all offenders' William Shakespeare**

**I'm on the mend, I think, which hurts, but hurts less than being freshly wounded. Works cures all ills but death. The many friends in my life have been supporting me, which is much appreiciated.**

** Incidentially, last chapter, I meant to say : House Lestrange's motto is 'Winter is Coming'. Does anyone recognise the reference? I'm re-reading, and every time, I remember how much I love a certain diminutive gentleman and hate a certain queen. :) **

The silence persisted all through the night, as Lucius and Narcissa thought it best to allow the children privacy, and spent time at prayer that this would, somehow, relieve some of the tension between the two of them.

The elves, beyond thrilled, brought supper. Draco hadn't stopped smiling since he'd rolled off Hermione. Hermione herself seemed to be contemplating some inner vision, or else was sleepy again. He didn't try to cuddle with her this time- but at least she wasn't grimly insisting they rise at once.

Instead, he put his hand near hers and simply waited for her to say something. Hermione was lying on her back, eyes closed, breathing very even and very calm. "Was it...did you like it?"

"Yes. Are you hungry?"

"Slightly. You?"

"We'll have supper sent up on a tray. Or would you want a snack right now?" Supper wouldn't be for quite some time.

"That would be nice."

Draco wondered what she felt. It struck him as a little odd that she'd wept for a stranger but refused to admit her own hurts. But, he thought, perhaps that was what he loved about her, her ability to see beyond. Did she see the trees as well as the forest?

Hermione was just being. Nothing moved inside her, nothing especial caught her attention. Just being. She felt porous, like a sponge, but dry, too. The pain would insinuate itself again, she knew, but right now she was too happy for the merciful absence to care.

"Tell me about this thing we're going to see tomorrow?"

"The art?"

"Yes. What do muggles paint?"

Hermione could have told him about perspective and realism and impressionists and Madonnas and Agnes Sorel's beautiful bare breast. She didn't. Instead, Hermione smiled, rolled to him, and said 'What wizards do."

"Oh. Why do you want to go and see it?" Draco was educated-he could recite Homer and Cicero, knew his Tacitus and Herodotus, and had read most of Euripides by the time he was eleven. But the appeal of muggle relicts was rather lost on him.

"It's history, like the names on the door. It matters, it helped to shape us."

"Mmm." Draco pretended to understand what she meant and rather failed. His mind cast for something to compare it to, and he said finally 'You mean like reading old English to help with runes?"

"Early modern English. Old English was more like German than anything. But yes, something like that."

Draco huffed. "Do you never get tired of knowing more than everyone else?"

"No."

"No?'

"You're asking me this, and were close friends with Crabbe and Goyle?"

Draco nodded, a bit sheepishly. "They weren't so bad. You'd rather like Goyle, I daresay. He's funny." And possessed of a brand of honesty, which, though not subtle, could be useful at times.

Hermione tactfully changed the subject. "Well, someone has to know things, I suppose."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Knowledge is lost if people don't make an effort to seek it out."

"But aren't you ever lonely, being the only one who knows?"

"Yes." Hermione was looking at him. She wondered why he asked these things-there were strange hints of her childhood tormentor, who'd asked such cruel questions, mixed with sincerity and disturbing affection. Draco was frowning, eyes cloudy.

"You were always a good student, Draco."

"Yes, of course. Father said it was an honour to be educated, and a responsibility for a Malfoy." And Draco, from the time he could speak, had wanted to be like his father in all things, and that meant being as learned as he, and as clever, and as witty.

"But didn't you like it?"

"Means to an end, love. I enjoyed parts of it quite a lot, but...I could have happily had done without a good deal of the detritus. I really do think the curriculum should be reformed."

"Reformed how?" Hermione leant forward, interested, and Draco knew he should tell her firmly that he didn't wish to bore her. But she was clearly curious, and Draco could make her happy again, and did.

"For one, did anyone actually learn anything in Herbology? Or History of Magic? Or care of Magical Creatures?"

"Some people were very good. Neville is excellent at Herbology."

"Yes, of course, but the average student has no need. How many of your friends plan to raise hippogriffs, for instance?"

"It's good knowledge to have."

"I agree, but it's not practical. Wouldn't you rather they taught courses we might all have used, like magical charms for common injuries? I'd get a damned sight more from that than the various goblin wars and whatnot."

"Binns is a bad teacher."

"Yes, but it's also a stupid class. Well, stupidly taught. Everyone might have held up a bit better had the known the things that happened less than twenty years ago, versus the things that happened before people wore shoes."

Hermione nodded. "You've given this thought."

"I find many of the things I had been taught ill served me during the last year. Led me to reflection, I expect."

He'd never once, in all their weeks together, alluded directly to any of what had happened. Hermione, feeling the razor lined bear traps at her feet, said carefully 'I'd think a lot of people feel that way."

"Certainly do. It's a bitter thing, love, seeing everything you ever believed slip through your fingers."

Hermione felt discomfort creeping up her spine. There was a new bitterness in his voice, a hardness, she'd never heard before. She slowly put her hand out and stroked his cheek and Draco, sighing, burrowed into it.

"Sorry, love."

"It's all right." Hermione knew how he felt, actually, but she thought it would be a bad time to bring that up. Instead, she settled back and let the silence envelope them like fingers of mist.

"I'm not angry with them."

"Whom?"

"Mother and Father. I was, for a long time, but...they were ill used as well."

Hermione remembered a man who'd been perfectly willing to kill her and everyone else for the prophecy, but held her tongue out of respect for Draco. For the moment, at least. Someday she'd have answers, but Draco was telegraphing need at the moment, and so she listened.

"I know you've never...I mean, it's different for you, but...they just wanted us to be safe, was most of it."

"Oh."

Draco was making a muck of this. He inhaled. "Suppose, Hermione, your father joined a...a club, or something...political, but not...you know, mainly a place to meet, because his father had belonged."

Hermione could smell what was coming. 'Only following orders' held no weight with her. It could excuse anything, allow someone to wriggle out of any place and into a bolt hole. But she waited for him to speak, so she could refute it, as the same.

'And they didn't...it wasn't people like Greyback or McNair then. Mainly intellectuals, like...well, like yourself. But He kept asking them to go just a little further, and then...' Draco shrugged and smiled a little 'Does that make sense?"

Actually, it did, a little. "By the time it was obvious what was happening..."

"There was Mother and I to worry about. And He made examples, if he felt it needed." Draco gently took her hand, so she'd not be afraid. If he'd the same choice, he'd join to protect her, as Father had.

Hermione still felt sure there must have been another way. She and Harry and Ron had infiltrated Gringotts, fought Death Eaters on Tottenham Court road, and led the Battle of Hogwarts. She worked this in her mind, not wishing to hurt her husband, difficult as their relationship was.

"Couldn't he have fled? With the both of you?"

"Fled where? He got Karkaroff in that shack on the mountain side, he'd have found us in the end." Draco's new fatalism flared and he tiredly shoved it back.

"I'm not blaming you, Draco."

"I know. " Draco took a deep breath. 'Now, this muggle art?"

As soon as the carriage had trundled off, Lucius climbed from the bed, donned his dressing gown, and sat slowly on the window seat, looking over a small rocky outcrop nearly a thousand metres below. Crookshanks stretched and padded over, climbing onto the man's lap. Lucius rubbed the thing's velvet ears gently. 'You are worth your weight in gold, do you know that?"

The cat rolled, and a big yellow eye looked into his with calm, slightly amused deliberation. 'Of course' he seemed to say 'I'm a cat. How else?"

Lucius chuckled. 'You've brought them together. What sort of woman prefers a cat to a necklace, hmm?"

'The smart kind' Crookshanks said with a flick of his ears and a small twitch of his pansy nose. He rolled on his back, and Lucius gently smoothed the soft, dense coat of hair on the cat's warm belly.

Man and cat, they rested in the watery late summer sun, feeling it warm their bones, and wondering how they'd got so old, that their respective young were grown, and they old enough to rest in the sun and want nothing else.

Narcissa had always loved Paris. She loved the bustle, the lights and noise, the smells, the river trundling through the centre. She wanted the children to love it too, enough that she felt only the smallest pang watching their backs retreating from her and into a crowd of muggles.

It wasn't as though Hermione and she couldn't shop another day, she told herself bravely. But was it so long since she'd held a chubby, dimpled little hand in hers, and soothed the child who shrank from the noise and the crowds? Not long, surely?

She sat down at a cafe and ordered some tea, looking into the seething mass of people, where the children couldn't be seen anymore. She felt both heavy and light. She'd been at Draco's wedding, but this was the first time he'd really seemed _married_, somehow. For the rest of his life, he and Hermione would go off on their own, and it was wonderful, but sad, too, a sort of painfully sweet sadness that salted her joy.

Draco didn't like muggle dress. He preferred the safety of robes, the comfort of being unseen. Of course, in France, no one knew him for Draco Malfoy, the betrayer. He stood straighter and smiled brightly at his wife, thinking how pretty she looked. She was wearing a skirt and jumper, and Leesy, who liked this muggle idea not at all, had insisted on hanging one of the goblin made necklaces about her neck.

Hermione led them without hesitating, boldly navigating the street as though she had no fear, which, he suspected, he didn't. Draco was rather past wishing she'd show feminine terror at everyday occurrences, but he'd expected a foreign city would be another matter. And been proved wrong, as Hermione boldly led them, chattering happily, not fazed at all by anything round them. He'd given her muggle money, and she paid them in, chatting pleasantly with the woman in French the whole while.

"Is there anything you can't do, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at him, smiling a little. "The elves. They make me nervous."

"Why?"

"They just do. I always feel like I've done something wrong."

"Shouldn't. They adore you."

Hermione nodded. "That's what makes me uneasy."

What didn't seem to make her uneasy was the art. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Draco snaked his hand into hers and she didn't seem to mind much, too busy taking in the art all round them.

Hermione loved magic; loved it with all her soul, with every part of her, but surrounded by the master works of the Western canon, she could feel a sort of muggle magic, transcendent made manifest and given form and shape, divinity locked into clay and pigment and bronze.

They didn't speak for a long time, until Draco gave her a gentle nudge. "See there?"

Hermione nodded. "The small one?"

"What are they doing?"

"Grieving."

"Grieving whom?"

It almost didn't matter. Draco had assumed that muggles were as crude and stupid in their art as anything else. This...wasn't. There was power here, raw and vital, potent. The magic of generation, the power of beauty used to wield form and abstract, which caught the idea.

"...And so they grieved."

Draco nodded. His wife was thoughtful, as she looked at the paintings. 'I forget how beautiful they are, sometimes."

"You come here often?"

"Every few months."

"Oh. Don't your parents have to fix teeth?"

"They get time off. And it's not so far by train."

Draco nodded. "Is this your favourite part?"

"No. Let me show you."

They walked along the galleries, skirting the endless tour groups, and came to the marbles.

"Eerie, all white like this." Unmoving, frozen, carved like white ice. Draco felt a chill go down his spine as he regarded the statues, all fixed at the moment in time that the carver had immortalised the subject.

"Do you think so? I don't. I think they're wonderful."

Draco cocked his head. "Why?"

Hermione wondered what how to articulate what she felt. "Because it seems...immediate. The paintings are wonderful, but this...they could step from the plinth any second, does that make sense?"

"I suppose. They make me uneasy."

But they stayed and looked all the same, and said nothing about it.

When Narcissa met the children, she saw first how natural they looked together, Draco gently leading Hermione. They both looked happy, too, chatting softly about one thing or another, ignoring the shoppers round them totally.

"Hello, Mother."

"Hello, darlings."

"How was shopping?"

"Excellent. How was the museum?"

Draco tried to summon a word for it. "It was...very large. Hermione says we only saw a part of all the art."

"It's a mistake to try and see it all at once. Better to go in shorter visits."

They both nodded. Narcissa half wanted to ask more about all of this: what did muggles paint? Were the paintings as good as wizarding ones?

But she didn't. Rather, they went and did a bit of shopping, mainly, to his chagrin, for Draco, and some for his father as well. 'Doesn't seem right Father got to give this a miss."

"Well, he's spent twenty five years shopping with me. Perhaps he's done enough."

"It's not bad, Mother."

Narcissa gave Hermione a wink. "He lies like his father, with facility but little conviction." She smiled fondly and Draco dropped his head, acknowledging the truth of her words.

Hermione smiled politely, wishing Narcissa would get done so they could leave. Shopping made her twitchy; she didn't care about what she wore, so long as it was clean, and clutter made her nervous-give her quiet, plain rooms and quiet, plain food. The Malfoys seemed to specialise in neither, however, and since Draco had faked enthusiasm at the idea of the Louvre, she repaid the favour by pretending to enjoy shopping. And she really did like Narcissa.

Lucius and Crookshanks were reading the paper when the three returned. Well, Lucius was reading and commenting on what he read, and Crookshanks would obligingly snort, or give a grumble to show especial disdain for whatever foolishness was being cooked up.

"How was your day, Father?"

"Oh, we've been fine. I've quite decided to run this cat for Minister when Shacklebolt's term is up."

Hermione, hearing that, grinned. "I like Kingsley, but he's not as handsome, definitely."

"Or as sensible, or useful to me. The cat caught a fly earlier, which is more than I can say for Shacklebolt and his mopping up of the remaining Death Eaters."

Draco's eyes darted to his wife, who seemed to be controlling herself with great force of will. Fortunately, Mother came in before the verbal duelling could start, muttering to herself.

"We should have the cushioning spells on the carriage updated, the shaking could drive an elf to drink."

"If you'd like, love. How was France?"

"The exchange rate is very mediocre right now, but...I've got you some of those handkerchiefs you like." She sat down beside her husband and their potential future leader, rubbing Minister Crookshanks under the chin and handing the catnip mousey she'd got him.

"Ah, well, there went that plan. He's shown himself susceptible to bribes."

Narcissa raised her eyebrow. "The cat, you mean?"

"Our future Minister of Magic, you mean."

What an odd day it had been. Muggle art, her son's abrupt appearance as a married man, and now Lucius was talking about running Hermione's pet cat for Minister. She slowly put down her bags and took a deep breath.

"Shall we send for some wine?"

Everyone laughed, except for the future head of wizarding Britain, who curled up on his Girl's lap and yawned happily, and went to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**For those of you who guessed, the quotes were from 'A Song of Ice and Fire' by George RR Martin. I chose 'Winter is Coming' for the Lestranges because of their singleminded, Stark (heh) devotion to a ruler that wasn't good for the country.**

** The 'diminutive gentleman' is Tyrion Lannister, and the queen is his sister, Cersei. **

Draco had huge faith in his own luck. It was, he thought, almost tangible, that sense of things falling into place for him. He was used to it. But learning to give it a nudge, all the same.

So the cat was with Father, and his parents had responded to his hints about wanting to 'rest' with Hermione this evening, so if they would excuse them both after supper...?

Unfortunately, it hadn't played out quite like that, because when he came in, Hermione was bent over her manuscript, pen working. She looked deeply involved and not terribly amorous.

"Still at it, love?"

"Almost done." She poked her tongue out and scratched a bit more. Draco didn't know whether to be charmed or appalled she'd got so far. She had, so far as he knew, eighty odd pages (and the Letters were only fifty six!) and gave no indication of getting bored.

All the same, he felt a strange pride, watching her work. She'd done what she said she would, and from the glimpses he'd sneaked, he thought she'd done it well. Parkinson, he had to admit, would not have.

Strange. He'd not thought of her in weeks. He felt a slight pang, not painful, but startling. He didn't love her-had he ever? Or had he simply wanted a well bred wife to lie with?- but he felt he owed her more than being forgot entirely.

"How do you feel, love?"

"Fine, Draco. Yourself?"

"I'd welcome a bit of company." There, he'd said it. Hermione nodded and set down her quill, silently undoing the fastenings on her robes.

"Angel, I didn't mean...unless you want you."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak. How could she tell him she never wanted to? Draco was, she had to admit, not bad looking in an objective sense. Not to her taste, perhaps, but not ugly.

And he was surprisingly considerate when it came to...this. He'd never pushed, never demanded, never done or said the slightest thing that might hurt or embarrass her. But the fact remained that Hermione didn't want to have intercourse with him.

She laid down all the same, and Draco pulled his own clothing off and helped her lie back on the nest of pillows and bolsters the elves put there so they could read in bed.

Draco spelled down the lights and began to kiss her, lightly brushing her collar bones, her chest, the tops of her breasts. Hermione laid under him in polite silence, neither participating or fighting; he got the rather creepy feeling she was nearly a spectator in her own body.

"I mean it, darling. If you aren't in the mood, you needn't say yes."

Hermione sighed. "I don't mind." That was the best she could do for him, but at least it wasn't rejection. She'd swore and meant to keep her oath, but the oath hadn't mentioned liking what they did in bed.

"Is it the pain, love? We could get you a potion to-"

"No! I mean, I honestly don't mind. It hardly hurts at all anymore."

Draco cringed, face hidden by shadows. He could smell the slightest tinge of raw panic, a carefully controlled, almost unconscious burst of fear that Hermione shoved down the second it reared up in her.

But it hurt him, almost physically, that she didn't want to take a potion he gave her. No doubt she would if told-Hermione was nothing if not dutiful, he had to admit- but he found himself craving more than that.

Draco laid down and pulled the covers over both of them. The fur was warm and soft, each tiny hair tickling them and snuggling them both. He extinguished the candles entirely and for a few moments they lay in the darkness silently, side by side.

"What can we do to help with this, precious?"

"I never said no. If you want to, don't refrain." Hermione was starting to feel resentment. He could use her any time he liked; was that not enough, that he needed to rub it in as well? Did he want her to beg him for it like a dog?

Draco had never expected his wife-whomever it was, Parkinson or Hermione-to have urges like he had. Everyone knew women didn't. And as far as he was concerned, it was rather a nasty business anyhow, especially as Hermione seemed to find it both painful and shaming.

But he had the uncomfortable sense he was being dishonourable somehow. As bizarre as Draco's morals were, he recoiled from the idea of forcing himself on a woman. Everyone knew women were entitled to their modesty, and that a man who'd take it raped and stole at the same time. Draco had seen his fellow Death Eaters enjoying that sort of sport and it made him sick, in body and spirit.

"That's very brave of you, love. It is."

"No, it isn't." Hermione rolled on her side, facing the windows, and breathed the cold sea air. Draco spooned her and snuggled so his chest was against her spine. He wanted to kiss her neck desperately.

"Are you...having urges?"

"Always."

She half rolled. 'Sorry?"

Draco knew he'd been vulgar and ungentlemanly and should beg forgiveness. But he couldn't help it; instead, he smirked and lightly poked her ribs. She huffed and rolled back over. 'I mean, is it the veela thing?"

Veela thing. Draco was surprised how much it hurt to hear that. He didn't want it thought of like that- it was part of him, like his bones, but certainly not the only part. Is that what she thought, that everything he did, he did for that reason?

"Is it so strange that I'd like to because I want to be close to you?"

Hermione realised as soon as he spoke that she'd hurt him. His voice had a slight raggedness to it, an unevenness. Was he hurt? Or had she simply pricked his masculine vanity?

"I didn't mean it that way."

"No?"

"You've never asked me when it wasn't that, Draco. Was I supposed to know this was different on instinct?"

Fair, he had to admit. Draco breathed the blackness of the room and listened to the tide. 'I've asked when it wasn't."

"When?"

"Our wedding day."

Hermione rolled to face him. "It was that then, too. You told me you'd stop being so...concerned...once we'd consummated it."

"Oh." Draco breathed a bit more. 'I did."

"I know." Hermione remembered their first time with absolutely no nostalgia whatsoever. It had just been an embarrassing necessity, like a pelvic exam, and no more personal.

Draco remembered things rather differently. The first nap they'd ever taken together...holding her while she cried the first time...that night, when he knew she'd be there when he woke...he'd been so deliriously happy he couldn't believe it.

And now what? At the surface, he had the ideal Pureblood situation; he lived in an ancestral home with a wife who was perfectly willing to do whatever he liked, and his parents were there as well. Why wasn't he happy?

"I'd like a walk, Hermione. Will you be all right by yourself?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm sleepy, actually. Wake me when you come back. If you want to, I mean."

Draco waited until she'd rolled on her stomach and nestled into the pillows to take his leave. Donning his clothes, he padded from the room and walked aimlessly toward the battlements, hoping to find some perspective in all this.

He settled on the hard stone, back to the castle, and simply relaxed, trying to find something in himself he could draw on for this. A moment later, he heard a discreet sound and turned to find his father studying him.

"Hello, Draco. Not contemplating trying to fly, are you?"

"Not without a broom, Father. Does Mother know you're up?"

"No, and you shan't tell her, unless you'd like me to transfigure you into an aphid."

Draco grinned. "Wouldn't."

"Would. That's how Nero Malfoy dealt with his brother, Drusus, when the former presumed to take his pudding when they were children."

"I thought he simply pinched him until he cried."

"That's what they'd have you believe." Draco snorted and abruptly put his arms about his father.

"Something wrong, love?" Draco stepped back, looking abashed.

"Everything. An aphid?"

"It's a sacred family tradition."

"That you've just now invented."

"Which renders it no less sacred. Everything is quite a lot, you know."

"Hermione is...is..."

"Not co-operating?"

"No, she is. She's willing. But it makes her unhappy."

Lucius sighed softly. "One can't expect a woman to feel about it as men do, Draco."

"She asked me if I wanted it because of the veela...the veela part of me."

"Did you?"

Draco felt no shame to be discussing this with his father. He had no cultural expectations otherwise, after all. 'No. I just wanted to be close to her."

"Did you tell her that?"

Draco bit his lip. "To what end? She'll say yes if I ask her, but she doesn't..."

"She's not doing it for love, is that right? Just to please you?"

"Yes." Why couldn't he happy with that? That she wanted to please him? 'Shouldn't that be enough?"

"No." Lucius Malfoy gave his son a gentle little shake. 'If one wants obedience, Draco, one buys a house elf."

Draco looked as though he'd been slapped, so Lucius pressed on. 'One can't share a life of the mind with a house elf, Draco. You can with Hermione."

"Not like this. She won't let me."

Lucius wished he could fix this, but he couldn't exactly march into the bedroom and demand the girl love his son, could he? (Could he?) He'd simply have to give Draco the best advice he could and hope the boy used it well.

"But you say she's always amenable to you?"

"Always. I made her swear that night."

"I remember. And you think that's why?"

"Of course it is." Draco looked bitter, almost angry. 'She hasn't seen Weasley or Potter in months and they've still managed to muck everything up nicely."

"Time will help, Draco. And you mustn't expect too much, too soon. Hermione was happy."

"She could be happy now if she'd let herself."

"Could she?"

"Don't see why not."

Lucius had to smile at his son's stubbornness and the fact his voice had taken on a petulant quality that he'd not heard since the boy was, what, twelve?

"I'm proud of how gentle and patient you've been, Draco. Just keep it up and everything will improve."

He didn't tell his son what he was really thinking. That it might not, for one. Perhaps this was just the best Hermione could do. And even if it wasn't, Lucius wondered if Draco understood how unlikely his desire for a passionate love match was-the girl had been, thus far, and exemplary daughter in law, and wife, from what he could tell.

But Lucius had seen many things in life, and one of them was his observation that marriages made with unwilling people generally don't produce bone searing passion, or even strong emotion. He didn't doubt that the girl would grown fond of his son-who wouldn't?-but he strained to see it getting much beyond that. Their bonds would be children and running the household and familiarity, after a while. It would serve. It would have to.

But he couldn't bring himself to say that to his son. And he might be wrong-certainly, stranger things had happened. 'Keep your expectations reasonable, Draco."

Draco nodded. 'Yes, Father. Is Mother all right?"

"She's tired, Draco. It's been a strain on her, to say the least."

"All of us." Draco was thinking of what he'd seen, and the year he'd spent waiting to die because he didn't hate an old man enough to kill him.

"Quite. Think on what I said, hmmm?"

"Yes, Father."

"And take that wretched orange fleabag, he's quite colonised my pillow."

"He'll colonise mine."

"Yes." Lucius looked blandly at his son until Draco laughed. 'Father!"

"Do you remember, Draco, that time you poured ink on my desk. You were two, I believe."

"A bit. It was fun."

"Mmm. This is my revenge, then."

"Hermione will cabal with him if I let him back in."

"I'm caballing with him now. Which is more dangerous?"

Draco wrinkled his forehead. 'Depends, I would say."

"Miserable child. Take your wife's cat and go on." They went inside, and Lucius plucked a sack of suet and hair from his pillow and handed him to his son.

Draco carried the cat back to the bedroom. Hermione was sleeping, and Draco put Crookshanks down and quietly undressed, slipping under their robes and moving her so she lay on his chest.

In the bedroom, Narcissa rolled over and gave her husband a long look. "Lucius?"

"Yes, love?"

She was still doing it. "Lucius."

"Hmm?." Lucius pretended to ignore her, but he couldn't, not for long, not since he was sixteen and had seen Andromeda Black's beautiful sister, shy as a doe, standing on the very edge of the pitch, watching as they flew, blushing slightly. She's not changed, he told himself, and meant it. Hardly at all.

"Healer Stone said you shouldn't be up and about."

"Young people these days, impudent as anything. You and I were doing magic when he was wearing nappies."

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy."

Lucius sighed loudly. 'You know me altogether to well, Cissy."

"Speaking of impudent, what were you saying to our son?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. 'Does anything happen you don't know about?"

Narcissa considered. 'In Peru, perhaps. But only once or twice."

Lucius laughed and kissed her, and told her everything. Narcissa frowned, her forehead wrinkling like Draco's was prone to do.

"It's so much harder than when he was small."

"It is. Do you suppose we could distract him with a sweet?"

Narcissa shook her head. 'If anyone needs distracted, it's Hermione."

"Best of luck. If I don't run the cat, I'm running them both. That child has never had an unserious thought in her life."

"Would he could teach her to play. That would ease things."

Lucius shook his head. 'He's tried. She's just too serious."

"No cause is hopeless, I daresay."

"Time?"

"Time." They laid in silence another moment, until Lucius cracked his neck rapidly. 'I could do with a sweet myself, actually."

Narcissa giggled, feeling young again. 'Do you remember when we'd sneak down to the kitchens when we were expecting Draco?"

"Father was furious."

"I know." She giggled again and nestled against him for a moment. 'Since you've already disobeyed the medi-wizard..."

Lucius rose and handed over her dressing gown. Narcissa skinned into it, and they made their way to the kitchens, feeling slightly silly and very lighthearted. As they ate their quaking pudding, they discussed potential ways to alleviate the situation between the children.

The children themselves were in bed. Hermione woke up. 'Draco?"

"Hmm?" He set down the magazine he'd been reading and smiled. Hermione felt the cold air nipping her skin, and considered closing the window against it. Her body felt anchored to the bed, and warm, and alive, so instead, she pressed her lips to his.

Draco was so incredibly startled that all he could do was blink rapidly. 'Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"What-what-"

She couldn't tell him it was because she was nineteen and alive, and the salt air was sweetly chilled and that she ached in her bones. Words would never convey a thing like that, and even if they could, Draco had no poetry in his soul. More than Ron did, perhaps, but still not much.

Instead, she let him slide atop her, and this time it didn't hurt at all. Draco was careful to go slowly and be gentle and whisper sweetly to distract her as he thrust, and Hermione lay still and felt their heat displacing the cold night air, making a pocket about the both of them.

And Crookshanks sat in the corner, smugness in every line of his body. After the humans had done (and what an ugly thing it was, all angles and bare pink flesh! How glorious it is to be a cat!) the elves came and silently drew baths for both of them.

As his Girl was washed, Crookshanks came and sat by the tub, smirking as much as he could at the elf, who ignored him.

Had Draco been asked, he would have had no insight into his wife's bizarre yet heartening change. Crookshanks would have sneezed derisively at the idea that the Male had done anything-nature, he would have said drily, does tend to take her course.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm moderately sure 'What you are in the dark...' is a quote of some kind, but since I'm not sure, I'll just put it out there.**

** _ '...And since you must provide your husband with issue, go to his bed with a free and happy heart, for, as unpleasant as the act itself might be, the rewards are many fold-not only a child, as is your duty, but the gift of obedience to your husband.'_**

** Virgilia Malfoy, Letters to Wives**

Crookshanks yawned broadly and gave the Older Male a poke in the ear with his paw. Obligingly, he snorted and rolled on his side, and Crookshanks manoeuvred himself into the warm spot left in the bed.

Motion in the hall. The cat rose and stalked out. His Girl was there, wrapped in a robe, and arguing with one of the foul-smelling elves they kept now. 'I feel fine, Leesy."

"Miss is getting sick."

"I just need some solitude, is all. Go back into the bedroom."

Leesy looked sly. 'If Leesy is going in, might be waking Master on accident. Master is not liking this a bit."

The cat admired the casual manipulation, but the Girl didn't. She frowned and bent to pick him up, snuggling him in her arms. 'Leesy, please?"

Leesy felt a little bad seeing how upset Madam was getting. But it was a cold night, and she didn't want Madam to catch a chill or a miasma. She screwed her face up, and tears began to run down her cheeks. "Ohhhh!"

To Leesy's horror, Madam's eyes filled. She inhaled shakily and hugged the cat tighter, looking ready to cry herself. Leesy stopped at once and went to her mistress. "Madam isn't crying, please? Tell Leesy, is fixing it."

Hermione shook her head and simply plopped down, back to the wall, holding the cat for dear life, and swallowed a sob. Since that night she'd kissed him, they'd gone three more times , and Draco walked round whistling these days, smiling at the elves, agreeing to nearly anything.

Hermione swallowed again and made herself smile at the elf. 'I'm all right. Really, I am. Go and enjoy your free time, Leesy."

Leesy shook her head direly. 'Should go and get Madam Narcissa?"

"No! Please, Leesy, I just want to be left alone."

Leesy couldn't wrap her mind round that one. Her brow furrowed, and she cocked her head, wondering why anyone would want to be alone. She was very nearly decided in her resolve to go and get Madam Narcissa when Madam said quietly 'My cycle is due in three days."

"Having back ache?"

"No, I feel all right."

"Is something else?"

"We haven't been using anything, Leesy."

"Using anything?" The elf's brain was spinning in unfamiliar loops and whorls. She shook her head to clear it and wondered if this was some sort of bizarre muggle thing she'd have to train out of Madam.

"Birth control. I could be pregnant." Hermione's bum was cold, and Crookshanks was looking at the door to the bedroom and snorting loudly, indicating he'd prefer a warm fur and a feather bed to the cold stones of the wall and floor.

"Madam is being pregnant?" Leesy jumped up and danced joyfully, eyes streaming with tears. Hermione hissed. 'I don't know. Stop it, they'll hear." She pressed a hand to her midriff, feeling nothing, wanting to feel nothing.

"But Master is being so happy if Madam is having baby." Leesy was confused as to why Miss wasn't eagerly contemplating the possible lack of her cycle. All the elves would be overjoyed, and Leesy herself was anticipating pampering Madam for most of a year, feeding her special foods, grooming her and helping her keep cheerful.

"Yes. I know. They'd all be." Hermione heaved herself to her feet and walked toward the library, instinctively searching for peace in the stacks of books and scrolls. She spelled up the lights and settled in the chair, wondering how long she had before Leesy ratted her out to Draco or Lucius.

"Leesy? Would you please bring me that diary I found?"

Leesy did it, also bringing a warm fur. Hermione snuggled under it and opened the book, feeling a tentative sense of peace seep in.

'_Hee is somewhate beter in hes personne tonight, butt I feere his minde will niver recovre. Wee have beene oblig'd to putt him in a celle, but hee canne agin talke to us. Iff hee is no more violnt, perehabs we will soone releese him bak above stars._'

'_Tonight the ef was attac'd with sore volnce when itt wente to bring himm bred. Itt was muche hurte. I doo no more no whate I shuld doo."_

Hermione's heart went out to the man, separated as they were by centuries. _'I soo lov'd hees muther I did thenk nott on wot mite hapen when the boy was full growen. Had I but noen, I telle misef I would hav expos'd himm, but itt is nott soo. I lov'd himm then. I lov himm noww._"

There was rustle at the door. Hermione turned to find Draco, eyebrow raised. "Love?"

"Hello, Draco."

He came and sat down, raking a hand through his hair. 'Something wrong?"

"No. I just wanted some solitude."

Draco took her hand in his. 'Then something _is _wrong. Why didn't you wake me, angel?"

Hermione was genuinely confused. 'Why is everyone so surprised?"

"Wizarding people don't do that. Why would you?"

"Want solitude?"

"Mmm hmm. Wouldn't you rather be with someone?"

Hermione shook her head. 'Sometimes I just want a little time with my own thoughts, is all."

Draco thought that probably this had to do with her twisted muggle family life. He stroked her hand a moment and decided to pursue this later.

'What thoughts are those, darling?"

"We've been...well, we had relations. We aren't using anything." Hermione looked at the wall, not wanting to see his face, the look of curiosity in his eyes slowly drain away and harden into annoyance or distrust.

"Using...anything?"

Hermione felt like she'd fallen into 1800 sometimes. She sighed. 'Birth control, Draco."

Draco blinked. 'Sorry?"

"We haven't been using something to keep from getting pregnant."

Draco nodded and his eyes softened slightly. 'Is it the pain that has you worried? About having a baby?"

"No. There's potions for that."

"Are you scared of losing your figure?"

Hermione snorted. 'Are you seriously asking me that?"

Draco dipped his head. 'Touché. But there must be a reason you're afraid."

"We're not ready, Draco. _I_'m not ready. It's too soon."

"Isn't. We've elves, and Mother will help you, if you need."

Draco cocked his head, wondering at the compulsion that led Hermione to question everything, to dig about in things when she could have simply left the details to him. He'd been raised to see that a prerogative of his place, that lesser people worried about the little things. Wizarding people of Draco's station would be nearly helpless to manage the mundanities of everyday life-and took pride in it.

Why couldn't Hermione do that? She was too precious to waste on silly things-didn't she understand that? Draco lowered his head to hers and breathed deeply, smelling her smell of good soap and lavender.

Hermione struggled to find a way to describe how she felt. 'I appreciate that, Draco. But it would be best for us to get used to one another, don't you think?" Hermione jerked her head sharply, trying to crack the cartilage and relieve the sudden stiffness creeping up from her shoulders.

Draco's hands went up and he felt tentatively with his fingertips, looking for the muscle knot. 'Oh, I don't know. A baby would draw us closer together, I'd say."

"That would be most unfair to the baby, though. We shouldn't have a child just for selfish reasons like that."

"Selfish? The baby would have everything, Hermione. You know that."

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, except for parents who are used to one another."

"Like I said, it would the elves who did the things you wouldn't wish to. We'd still have plenty of time to get to know one another better."

His hands were still lightly probing her muscles, and he began to knead, making sure not to hurt her. Hermione hardly noticed; she was too busy trying to come up with an argument.

"I might not be. Silly to worry about it ahead of time, I suppose."

"Mmm, quite."

"And I should be working on my refutation, anyway."

"That. How long is it now?"

Hermione couldn't read his tone. 'About eighty pages, I'd say. I haven't counted."

Draco's eyes widened a little. 'My word, the Letters are only what, fifty?"

She nodded. Draco felt a strange pride, mixed with a sort of gentle horror at all this; he looked thoughtfully at the manuscript. 'What do you aim to do with it?"

Hermione had known this would happen. She took a deep breath and folded her hands. "I don't know. It's important to me, is all."

"I understand, darling. I do. But aren't you tired of being so serious all the time?"

"Serious?'

"Always fighting, Hermione. Wouldn't it be nice not to?"

Hermione shrugged. 'I don't mind. I'm not afraid to fight."

"Never said you were. Said I'd thought you'd feel _happier_. Take some time to play, hmmm?"

"I do. And I like doing the things I do. It's not work for me."

Draco sighed. 'Yes, I know. But...why not take up sewing? Or perhaps get some ladies together for a luncheon?"

Hermione tried to keep a straight face. 'Ladies? Like Parkinson and Bulstrode? What will I say to them, 'More trifle before you claw my eyes out, Miss Parkinson?"

"Hmph." Draco poked his lip out a little. 'And here I thought you'd be open to trying new things."

"I am! Just not that."

"What'll you do once you're through with the Letters? Start on Mrs. Leek?"

"Probably. Why is it 'Missus' and not 'Madam', by the way?"

Draco was pleased to know something she didn't. 'Missus is an abbreviation for 'Mistress'. Used to be, nice women were always called 'Mistress', even the unmarried ones. 'Miss' was slang for a wh- well, something not very nice." He was mortified he'd almost used a word like that in front of his wife, but Hermione shook it off.

"Why the change?"

"There was a fashion for all things French in the early 19th century. Never changed back."

Hermione was smiling. Really smiling. Draco felt both thrilled and slightly bemused. He'd just thrown out a random fact, and here she was acting like he'd given her something of value.

'That's interesting. I'll bet there are books about this."

"See, this is what I mean. No playing, always with some dusty old book."

"I play all the time."

"Do not."

"Do. Here, Crooks." She clicked her tongue, and Crookshanks ambled toward her, giving the Male a look to show what he thought of his technique. He'd apparently got mating down, but how did he expect to continue with this if he didn't play the part of adoring swain? Had he even brought the Girl something dead to show his feelings?

Hermione swished her wand and a clean quill rose in the air and swished again. The quill took off, flying round the room like a broom. Crookshanks stretched, yawned, and sprang after it, face tense with the thrill of the hunt.

Draco grinned. 'You learnt it just for him?"

"I _invented_ it just for him. Professor Flitwick gave me ten extra points for it."

"Just for making a feather fly?" The outrage in his voice was almost palpable, and Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed. 'It was years ago. And no, watch."

Crookshanks came closer to the hovering quill. He leapt, and caught the thing between his blunt, splayed paws. As soon as he's downed it, the feather split in two, and Crookshanks happily jumped up to chase both parts.

"Not too shabby, love. I suppose it was worth _five_ points, at most. But still."

"Five?" Hermione turned and gave him an offended glare. 'I was fourteen. How many fourteen year olds invent spells at all?"

"Still. Five points. Perhaps deduct one for this stroppy attitude."

It was Hermione's turn to pretend to pout. It surprised her, how many facets Draco had. She'd learnt over the past few weeks that there were facets to everything, that the true shape of all things is a diamond, which reflect many edges. And he was actually teasing her. She tipped her head away.

Draco swished and retrieved a feather of his own. He tickled her under the chin with it. Hermione giggled and tried to swat it from his hand. Draco ticked her again, this time on her ear.

"Draco! Stop that!"

"Stop what? I saw dust there. Probably from all the books, I should think." He brought the feather a little closer and ever so slowly started for her cheek. Hermione giggled harder and brought her hand up. Draco nodded gravely and simply went to tickle her belly instead.

"Draco!"

"Love?"

He cast the feather aside and simply started tickling, pinning her easily and wriggling his fingers across her ribs and into her knee hollows, laughing himself. Hermione flailed, giggling, and somehow managed to tickle back. Draco jerked and chortled; he was embarrassingly ticklish.

Crookshanks, meanwhile, saw the wrestling match on the bed and decided to join in, jumping on Draco's back and flailing his way between them, using his bottlebrush tail as a makeshift weapon. All three combatants collapsed, panting and red, in a heap.

"See? Was that-so hard?" Draco struggled to catch his breath a moment. Hermione shook her head and then sat, gently moving Crooks to his place by her side. 'No, of course not."

"We should do it more often, then."

"You can't just attack me."

"Why not?"

Hermione hmmph'd and rolled on her side, cuddling Crookshanks. Draco remembered to freeze the two flying quills and laid down as well, still breathing a little hard.

Hermione rolled back over and smiled a little. 'I'd never suspected this side of you."

"No?"

"No."

"Nor I you, I expect. Not the part about liking to fight, everything else."

"I don't...I mean, it's not as though I seek out conflict, Draco. It's just that so many people and things and have no one to advocate for them. Shouldn't I, if I can?"

Draco had never thought about it. 'Darling, that's admirable, but...there's so much to do. Like I've said, you must be tired."

"Sometimes. But I'd rather be tired doing something than well rested doing nothing."

Draco didn't get it. 'We aren't that sort of people, precious."

"Sorry?"

"We aren't the sort of people that worry about little things. We can afford to only concern ourselves with things of importance."

Hermione was deeply proud of herself for not giving Draco a sharp answer. Instead, she inhaled and said, very politely 'But because w-because that's the way it is, don't we have more of a responsibility of to watch out for people less fortunate than ourselves?"

"There are charities for that."

"Muggles have a saying, Draco. 'What goes round comes round."

"What's that to do with us?"

"That if nothing else, we can believe that good things will happen because we do good things."

"Do you believe that, love? Truly?"

Hermione felt her eyes fill a little. 'Sometimes I do." She thought of a lifetime spent in service to others and to knowledge, a long stretch of sharing notes and being good, reading when others played, helping firsties find the Charms classroom, picking up socks from the floor and always closing the door behind herself.

"And the other times?"

"I think I could get much farther if I wasn't so...so..."

Draco nodded, encouraged. 'Why haven't you ever?"

"I don't want to be that sort of person."

Draco was overcome for no reason he could name. He'd felt sorry for Hermione when she told him about her wretched muggle childhood, but this feeling was deeper; he was finally seeing her a little, and it was like he'd surfaced from water. He'd seen her secret heart, the part of herself she hid.

'People don't love you for what you do, Hermione. We love you for what you are."

"One doesn't do things just for love, Draco."

"No? Why, then?" He carded his fingers through her hair and hoped she was pregnant. Even if she wasn't, there was always next month. And he felt glad she was telling him this, as mad as it was.

"Because what you are in the dark in what you really are."

Draco considered this for a long moment. 'I don't quite follow."

"What if I did? No one would know, most of the time. But I'd know. And I'd think about it, and it would tell me what sort of person I am really."

Draco spelled down the lights and pressed himself to her. She indicated she was willing, and he slid atop her, finding her damp. He thrust silently, and then, finishing, rolled off, covering himself in the sudden chill.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"When will you know?"

"By next week, at the latest." There were spells, and the elves would know, if nothing else.

"You'll tell me at once?"

"Yes. I don't think I've fallen pregnant." Yet, murmured the unquiet ghost, the potential quickening inside her, under her heart. Not yet. Please, not yet.

Draco squeezed her hand. 'We'll slay that dragon as we come to it, love. Together. As a family."

Hermione nodded silently and they fell asleep, thinking the same thing in the most different way possible.

The elves were well pleased. In the kitchen, Leesy gave a full report, joined by the nasty cat. The elves nodded gravely to one another, until Tippy raised an important point. 'They is not needing to be guided?"

The other elves were silent for a long, horrible moment, until Leesy said, with great finality 'Law of averaging. Is _fluke_."

And, having determined that, the elves dispursed, already debating what the baby-if there was one-would be called, and how they would convince Madam-whom, it was agreed, needed a little work-to let them raise it totally, as it proper.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**Sorry it took so long, everyone. It's midterms, and I'm taking Constitutional Law and Comparative European Politics at the same time.**

**Also, one of you asked me a question which I've attempted to answer in the chapter below.**

**Mouse fur false eyebrows were real things. Am I the only one who's shivering a little at the thought?**

Hermione bent over the steaming cauldron and gave it nine very careful anti-clockwise stirs, pleased when it turned from a bright cyan to a sort of deep navy blue. She smiled and threw in the four ground bat toenails as the door opened and Draco, slightly damp, strode in.

"Hello, love. What's this?"

"Cough suppressor. You mentioned making home remedies, and today seemed a good day, since you'd gone out. Would you like to sit down?"

He did. 'What else have you got going?"

'Burn salve, dry skin ointment, headache potion, sour stomach draught, and oil of violets. Why?"

He shrugged and took her hand gently in his for a moment. 'No reason. Anything I can help with?"

Hermione handed him a tray of wet, foul smelling lumps of tissue. 'Could you mince these salamander galls for me? They're for sore throat lozenges."

Draco obediently set about mincing and cutting and paring. 'Darling?"

"Yes?"

"You're sure?"

"It started this morning."

Draco didn't know how he felt. Part of him, of course, was very disappointed, because he liked children and wanted them to have one. Another part was just as glad, perhaps, that it hadn't happened this time.

"May I ask you something?"

Hermione was stirring the headache potion. She stopped, raising her eyes. 'Of course."

"Why did you yield to me the other night, if you were afraid you were...?"

Hermione sat down. 'Because...' she felt as though she were sinking in quicksand. She wouldn't tell him it was sheer loneliness that had led to her surrender to him that night. Nor that, once the cat was out of the proverbial bag, stuffing it back in was impossible. And that her life now had the uniformity of a strand of pearls-shiny, perhaps, but meaningless in the bigger picture, and all alike. Anything that would relieve the boredom was welcome.

No, she couldn't tell him that. Hermione looked at her hands, not precisely wishing to lie, either. 'If we were to have been, one more wouldn't hurt. And if nothing came of it, then you'd be happy."

Draco smiled a little. 'My sweet girl." He set down the neatly minced galls and looked for something else to do. 'Shall I start the lozenges?"

Hermione smiled back. 'Would you?" The headache draught was nearly done; with a final sprinkle of willow bark powder, she spelled the heat off the cauldron and charmed the ladle to pour the stuff into rock crystal phials.

Draco watched this, in between the steps of his own project, with pleasure at his wife's industry and efficiency. An elf appeared to take the phials to the upstairs room which served as the potions pantry, and Hermione, dabbing her forehead with a man's handkerchief she'd probably taken from him. Not that he minded-he thought it simply too adorable, that she was slyly using something of his.

"How much is that?"

"A week's worth, assuming someone takes one every day. I'm making a week at a time every day for a month so we'll have plenty."

"Ambitious of you."

"It needs to be done, and we've all the ingredients right here."

"Quite. How's the refutation coming?" He tried to ask it casually, but Hermione stopped and gave him a penetrating look all the same.

"Fine. I should be done fairly soon."

"Ah. What did you want to do with it once you're done?"

Hermione didn't answer right away, being too busy stirring the ointment to keep it from scorching and being ruined. She finally set her stirrer down and said, very evenly 'I don't know."

"Have you given it any thought?"

"Yes, of course. But I'd imagine you wouldn't want me to publish it."

"That thought has crossed my mind, darling. But I'd certainly want to read it before I made any decisions."

"Oh." She spent another endless minute fiddling, this time asking an elf to start pouring the ointment into pottery jars and seal them for storage. 'I'm glad to hear that."

"Are you?"

She was, too. Without being prompted, Hermione came and sat next to him-not on his lap, perhaps, but not far from it- and said, very softly 'That you'd even try, I mean."

"You don't think much of me, love, if you don't think I'd give you a fair chance." Which was, perhaps, not quite true, but Draco was slowly mastering the art of figuring out what made Hermione tick.

Hermione went pink. 'I'm sorry, Draco. I never meant-"

He could have accepted the apology, but he kissed her instead. And it was good.

The moment was interrupted by a sharp yell from next door and a clashing noise. Draco and Hermione both leapt to their feet, drawing as they ran, and found Leesy bent over a mortar and pestle, glaring with enormous hostility at the fat orange dumpling that was Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks is evil cat! Scaring Leesy! Stealing mouse ears for tonic!"

Hermione bent and scooped the cat up, trying not to laugh. Now that she was closer, his mouth did seem to be fairly full. She called for an elf to tend the cauldrons in the other room.

'Crooks! That's very naughty of you, to scare poor Leesy that way."

Crookshanks' looked impenitent. He finished chewing his mouse ears and yawned, feeling quite full and rather sleepy. Settling his head on Hermione's shoulder, he closed his eyes for a nap.

'What is it you were making, Leesy?"

Leesy, dignity wounded by the nasty cat, proudly showed the foul smelling red stew bubbling on the counter top. 'Is being rouge, for the ladies. And this one is being pomade for hair, and this one' she pointed to a seething mass of white, which smelt even worse than the rouge 'is being soap for Madam."

Hermione forced herself to not appreciatively. 'Thank you, Leesy. You needn't worry, though. We've adequate stores of-"

Leesy was shaking her head. 'No, Madam. Leesy is being lady's maid, is knowing what is needed." She gave a satisfied nod and went back to stirring. Hermione, knowing when she'd been beaten, nodded defeatedly.

'There aren't any mouse ears in that, I should hope." Draco's eyes were twinkling, and Hermione couldn't help but snort. She bit her lip and glared sternly at her husband.

'No! Is all being in nasty cat! Leesy is catching more mice later! None for nasty cat!"

"That's not necessary, Leesy."

"But Leesy is making tonic for Madam! To be increasing milk for baby when it is coming!"

"I'll be fine without." Hermione gave Draco an even sterner glare, but being Draco, this encouraged him.

'Mmm, I don't know. Perhaps Madam might prefer some mouse tea, Leesy? Or some false eyebrows of mousehair?"

"Draco! You aren't helping!"

"I'm just looking after your best interests, darling."

Hermione, who, after all, had had two male best friends, knew precisely how to combat this. Raising her wand, she flicked disinterestedly at his chest and watched, smiling slightly, as he doubled over, laughing.

'H-Hermione! N-no! Stop!"

"Sorry? Did you say you'd stop egging Leesy on?" She grinned and watched as Draco danced in place, her rictusempra.

"Yes! No! Hermione!"

Hermione grinned as she undid the curse. Draco, panting, stood holding his sides, trying to get enough air to retaliate. Hermione, seeing the light in his eye, feinted left and tried to run right, past her husband and toward the stairs.

Draco was too quick for her. He caught her, laughing, and scooped her up, covering her cheeks with kisses. 'Going somewhere?"

"I've no idea what you mean!"

Draco carried Hermione to the other room and sat down on the bench, holding her in his lap. Pinning her against him, he tickled her belly and under her arms, grinning as she wriggled, shrieking protests, and tried to get away.

"Ah ah ah. Now, what would Mrs. Leek say?"

"Draco!"

"No, darling, she'd not sat 'Draco'. She'd say something about wives who sneak hex their husbands, hmm?"

"Don't remember!"

He laughed again and stopped tickling her long enough to kiss her as he had before. Hermione, blood pounding from their...play?... found herself allowing it more willingly than ever before. Found herself leaning into him a little. Just to be polite, she told herself. Just to be polite.

Draco felt her move. His heart jumped and he kissed her more deeply, not daring to go too far but wanting to get close to her, wanting to show her how much he loved her. He'd never told her that, he realised suddenly. That he loved her.

Draco pulled his head back and studied her. 'Precious?"

Hermione blinked and shook her head. 'Sorry?"

"No, no, nothing to be sorry for. Darling, that was wonderful."

"You deserved it."

"Hmmph. Didn't either."

"Yes, you did."

"Not."

"Did."

"Not."

"Did."

"Not not not."

"Did did did." Hermione moved toward her wand and Draco, laughing, pushed her hand aside. She laughed too, and they were, for the first time, at ease with one another. The moment seemed to stretch longer than it was to them both-but it signified radically different things.

For Hermione, she wondered if this meant she was giving in. Had she stopped fighting what had happened to her? Would she ever?

Hermione wondered, not for the first time, whether it was a surrender for her to feel happiness again. Not the deep contentment she'd sometimes felt with Ron. This was bubblier, more light-hearted, almost childlike. .

Draco wondered whether Hermione had ever played before. She looked almost shell shocked. Her parents hadn't exactly overflowed with warmth, like his own, but they couldn't have denied her even this, could they? Had that place they made her go, to 'care', had it warped her somehow? He had images of rag clad children forced to stay in a filthy, spidery cellar for hours, being beaten with sticks, made to...do muggle things of some sort.

Hermione shook it off. This was her life now. She'd read Dickens, and understood the risk of becoming Miss Havisham, trapped in the decaying ruins of her former life by her own self pity. Rising, Hermione turned to the various cauldron, dismissed the elf, and set to putting the things that were done into phials, pots and pans for finishing.

Draco stood to help her, writing labels in his neat hand. 'Love?"

"Draco?"

"What else have you got planned for today?"

"Translating a bit more of that diary. Why?"

"No reason. If you wanted to, you could bring it down here and we could work on another batch. If you weren't too tired."

Hermione smiled. 'I would like that."

Ten minutes later, diary in hand, Hermione was reading busily as they waited for the lozenges to cool sufficiently to be cut, the salve to gel enough to be put away, and the oil of violets to take on the characteristic smell that would signify it was ready to be simmered over low heat for the next three days.

"What's happened?"

"He's still talking about his son. Would the Ministry have any information, do you suppose?"

"Might. Or Potter." Draco tried to sound casual, but Hermione's head snapped up. She wouldn't get excited, she wouldn't.

'May I write the office of Magical Records and ask? I'm terribly curious."

"I am too, actually. Why don't you write the Ministry and Potter both?"

Hermione's face lit up. Without warning, she half flung herself at him. He caught her easily, heart glowing with pleasure, as she kissed his cheek and said 'Truly? You mean that?"

"Yes, of course." Having laid claim to her, Draco could contemplate a letter without homicidal fury.

"But you have to let me read the letters, understood?"

Hermione nodded, knowing that half a loaf was better than none. 'All right."

"And play in the snow with me."

"Sorry?"

"The first big snow storm, let's go and play in the snow."

Hermione snorted. "All right."

"What? It's fun. You do know what that is, I trust?"

"Of course I do."

Draco sniffed. 'Don't believe it."

"Well, I do."

"Hmmph." He crossed his arms and turned his head away, pouting playfully. Hermione giggled. She couldn't help it. She'd never seen him this way before.

"What do you do, then, that's so much fun?"

Draco considered. 'Fly. Play quidditch-that's loads of fun. Dancing is fun. And spending time with Father and Mother. You?"

"Reading. Writing. I quite like listening to music. And my friends."

"Not your family?"

"Draco' Hermione struggled to explain 'I live in a completely different world. Suppose you had a child who left home at eleven and came back at eighteen? So much changed for me during school that we...well, we love one another very much, but it's hard for us to relate to one another."

Draco nodded. 'But they helped you have fun?"

"Of course. We went to the library and played in the garden and took walks in the woods. My Dad can identify almost every plant and flower that grows wild in Britain."

"Really?"

"This summer, I'm going to ask him to gather some things for us to use. And we'll send them some of it, too. But he can find a lot of what we need easily."

Draco was slightly impressed despite himself. 'That's interesting. But what do you do that's _fun_?"

"I've just told you."

"Darling, those things are like school. Didn't you ever do something just for it's own sake?"

Hermione huffed. 'I like those things I told you."

He shook his head. 'When the snow comes, I'll show you real fun. And I want to take you on my broom one of these days."

Hermione shook her head. 'Oh, no. I've always been terrible on a broom."

"Not what I heard. Assuming you were one of the Potters that night, then you're not half bad."

"You mean the night we took Harry from his house?"

"Yes. I heard it from Jugson and Wilkes."

"Oh. Yes, I was."

"They said all of them-all of you-were quite good."

Hermione shook her head. 'It was luck, more than anything." She didn't tell him that she'd been so scared that her hands had been damp; that she'd come close to slipping off; that she'd felt wild, fierce joy when she'd aimed her first hex and hit one of them, knocking them off the broom, sending them spiralling down.

"You needn't be so self effacing, my love. We both know skill played as much part as luck did."

Hermione was shaking her head. 'It was all of us, Draco. All of us working together."

"Mmm hmm. Anyway, first snowfall, we're making a snow witch in the courtyard."

"A snow witch?" Hermione smiled and shook her head a little.

"Haven't you ever...don't muggles do that?"

"Of course they do."

Draco grinned nostalgically. 'And a snowball fight, as well. A really good one."

Hermione was cutting the lozenges into uniform squares. 'I never realised you liked winter so much."

"Oh, I love it. Everything is clean and fresh, and it looks nice, as well. Don't you find?"

Hermione nodded distantly. 'I prefer early autumn. Everything crisp and clear, and school starting. New clothes. Mum and Dad and I would make a trip to London in August to see the British Museum and shop a bit."

Draco stood up and walked behind his wife. 'Darling, that sounds...' dull and bourgeois, he thought 'nice. Perhaps next year we'll do something like that."

She cut the final square and set the lozenges into a wooden box until they were needed. 'We could."

"Don't you want to?"

"It seems a long time from now."

"It does, at that. But it isn't. Christmas is soon, you know."

"I know. What should we do for your parents? What do they like?"

Draco cocked his head. 'I don't know. Let me ask them about one another, hmm?"

Hermione nodded and wondered what she would get Draco, now that she had no secrets. And to be honest, she felt more warmth toward him than she had, but there were lingering feelings which prevented effusive displays of sentiment. Perhaps she'd knit him a scarf or some gloves.

Draco wondered what he ought to get his wife. If he asked Father or Mother, they'd tell him to get her a necklace or something, because that's what women liked. He wasn't sure, though. Hermione didn't seem to think much about that sort of thing, for one.

He resolved to ask Leesy, as absurd as he knew that to be. How silly, to ask an elf's opinion on something. He bent and smelt the back of his wife's neck. He could smell a bit of perspiration under the lavender and soap. It was actually a little pleasant.

But she was quiet again. Draco rested his head on her neck and sighed. 'Something the matter?"

She shook her head. 'Not at all. The salve has gelled, I think." She summoned what she needed and set to scraping it into a cask.

"It wasn't Leesy, was it?"

"Leesy?"

"She means well, darling. And just because it didn't happen this month...we're still young."

Hermione nodded, swallowing. 'Suppose I can't?"

"Can't what? Conceive?"

She nodded. Draco let his hand drift to her belly. 'What makes you say that?"

She didn't answer right away. 'Mum and Dad had some problems."

"Oh. Well, then we'll find a way round it, won't we?"

Hermione couldn't feel nearly as confident. She was deeply glad she hadn't fallen pregnant this time. She wasn't ready for a baby, nor for any other sort of change.

'How was flying this morning?"

"All right. The sea was quite turbulent. Must be the winter coming."

He kissed the nape of her neck. 'Oh, angel, promise you'll not worry, will you? Please?"

Hermione turned and looked at him a moment. 'I know it's silly. I just can't bear for anything else to happen."

Draco nodded and embraced her, enormously relieved she'd actually brought a problem to him, rather than hiding it inside. He was bursting with pride and pleasure, but this would not be the time for him to say that.

"We'll slay those dragons when we come to them, darling. Just take things a bit at a time, hmm?"

And they might have said more, but in the corridor, Leesy was chasing a mouse, and shouting at Crookshanks to leave her alone. And so they went to watch, and stop worrying for a while.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**The idea of fighting on even while doomed is an oblique reference to Tolkien.**

_'A Lady shows only her most cheerful face in public. Be she in the drawing room or in her chambers, she strives to make no mention of her personal misfortunes, but rather counts her blessings. And she certainly never discommodes her husband with her own petty little worries and frustrations, when she could be ministering to his. Remember, Ladies, the most fair ornament to our sex is discretion._'

Virgilia Malfoy, Letters to Wives

Hermione set her quill down. She'd brought the refutation to work on as she brewed, and now it was done. She looked it over, shook hair from her eyes, and flicked at a cauldron of bruise tincture before calling Leesy.

Leesy, looking slightly deranged, popped in, straightening her toga. 'Bad, nasty cat. Wicked cat."

"What did he do this time, Leesy?"

"Giving Leesy shifty looks. Yes, plotting something. Cat is plotting against Leesy."

Hermione snorted. 'Leesy, he's a cat. Of course he's not plotting against you."

Leesy glowered and said nothing, looking a little Crookshank like herself. 'Would you take this upstairs, please, and put it on my dressing table?"

Leesy took the sheath of papers but didn't move. 'Leesy is speaking to Madam?"

"Yes, of course? Is something wrong?"

"Madam is stopping now? Is not healthy."

"Stopping what?"

"Refusal. No more refusal?"

"Refusal to what?"

Leesy gestured at the papers. 'Refusal. Is being bad for Madam."

Hermione blinked. There was an obvious question on her tongue but she wouldn't ask it, not now. 'Did something prompt this?" If they had told Leesy to ask, she'd have to say.

Leesy shook her head. 'Is being bad! Bad for Madam's health. Bad for making baby. Babies is not settling in uneasy womb."

Hermione stood to ladle some of the tincture into phials. 'Leesy, I...I'm touched, but haven't you noticed how much happier I am when I've something to do. Sitting around all day was making me miserable."

Leesy burst into tears. Hermione was moderately used to house elf emotions at this point, but that didn't stop her from spelling the heat down and turning to the elf, whose greatest pleasure in life was simply being around she and Draco.

"Leesy?"

"Is our fault! Couldn't make Madam happy! Had to write refusal to be happy!"

Hermione sighed internally. Couldn't five minutes go by without some sort of issue that required her to deal with someone else's problems?

"It isn't your fault, Leesy."

"Is! Isn't being good elf! Bad Leesy! Terrible Leesy!" Leesy, still sobbing, tried to punch herself in the head. Hermione grabbed her arm. 'Please don't!"

Hearing the distress in Hermione's voice, paradoxically, stopped the elf. She sniffled hugely, dried her eyes on the hem of her towel, and stared worried at Hermione with her enormous eyes.

'It's...very complicated, Leesy. But it's getting better, don't you think?"

Leesy nodded slowly. 'Better. But still not happy."

"No. But more than I was. Remember how sad I was in August?"

Leesy nodded again. 'Is hard, being away from parents."

"Yes, it is. And it's hard because Draco..."

"Master is being veela."

Hermione's eyes widened. 'You knew?"

"Elves is always knowing. Is...' Leesy sought for words to describe the memories that swam in her mind, memories as old as history and as deep as the sea-not her own memories, but those of her ancestors, who'd been fierce, wild creatures, only half tamed, used to defend Wizarding castles.

If she'd had the words, she could have described a good many things. The smell of the wood, wet and heady with decay, that came from the Conqueror's ships as he sailed past castles on distant, windy cliffs; the terrible stench of the plague, which had struck muggle and wizard alike and gifted them with reeking kisses; the clash of metal on stone, as a hundred thousand defenders breeched a hundred walls; the rain of fiendfyre and hot sand and pitch her grandfathers and great grandfathers had poured on the men below, their dying shrieks slicing the air; werwolves; feasts; hunts; veela.

But she couldn't. She only looked helplessly at Hermione and say, in all innocence 'Leesy is not supposed to be knowing? We is sorry, Madam."

"No, no, it's fine. I just didn't realise...oh." She sat down, legs suddenly weak and straining, and looked at the quill, tip mushy from use.

"Everything is different, Leesy."

"Different?'

Hermione forced herself to speak casually. 'Yes. It's...I...' She inhaled, willing herself not to cry. She felt stupid; she'd cried over this earlier. She'd drained the wound. Shouldn't it be healing now?

We do not, as a rule, lose things all at once. Rather, we lose them in stages, as bit by bit we realise part of ourselves has been stripped away and we must learn to live with the absence of it. Think on the loss of a limb-one does not lose merely flesh but pieces of a life we'd thought owed to us, a thing that supposed to be with us as long as we live.

So was her re-discovery of grief. Time had dulled the pain, but it was by no means gone entirely. Months or years later, a memory we'd thought dead can spring to new and shocking life, still sharp, still vital, and make us bleed.

Hermione swallowed convulsively. 'I'd like some water. Please."

As soon as the elf had gone she rested her head on her hands and blessed, a little, their solitude in Castle Black. Her life was quiet here, and there were no memories.

Had Lucius known? Had he sent them to a place with no scars? She still felt uneasy with the man, but perhaps his intuition had been correct in this case. She could adjust to things in parts, safe from some prompt which would open her again to this feeling, which was too _real _to be real.

Leesy handed her a goblet and drained it at a single sip. 'Thank you, Leesy. Let's not talk about this anymore right now, all right?"

Leesy agreed, and after she'd begged Hermione's pardon, they set to finishing the day's last batches with a silent efficiency.

There was a knock at the door. 'Enter."

Narcissa poked her head in, nose wrinkling slightly. 'Darling, what an awful little room. Have you really been down here for most of a week?"

"Yes, Mother. We'll have remedies for the whole winter, though, when I'm done."

"That's wonderful, love. How are you?'

"All right, Mother. You?"

"Tired, darling. Tired. Father Malfoy and I...it's been a long few years."

Hermione made sure her face didn't change. Narcissa sat on the work bench and began to page through the sheath of paper there.

'Have you finished?"

"Today, in fact."

Narcissa set the papers down again and pulled something from her pocket. 'I was going through some photographs. Thought you might like to see."

"That would be wonderful."

She produced a few snapshots of Draco as a toddler. He'd been a chubby, cheerful little boy with a whole shock of white blond hair. 'He was the happiest baby I ever saw. Always laughing."

Hermione studied the pictures. All the Malfoys looked happy in them, smiling, prompting baby Draco to wave to the camera, to smile for Father, to play with a little enchanted carriage.

"Draco had just learnt to walk in this one. I look a nervous mess." Narcissa smiled at her past self's folly and handed the next picture over. 'That's Father Malfoy and I on our wedding day."

Hermione saw how radiant Narcissa looked, how proud Lucius was, standing beside a man who had to his father. Beside Narcissa, two small, dark haired women were half smiling. Hermione bent closer.

"My mother, Druella Rosier Black. And Bellatrix." Narcissa's voice had got rough round the edges, as though she'd swallowed something very, very bitter.

"Doesn't Trixie look beautiful in her new robes? Pink always was-always was her colour."

Hermione half wanted to stop her mother in law, but she couldn't. She wasn't the only one who needed to purge something foul, it would seem.

"And you-my dear, sometimes when I look at you, you remind me so much of her, that I wish you and she might have met under happy circumstances. She would have liked you very much."

Narcissa pulled her shawl tighter. 'I mean that in the best way, you understand. You remind me of the things about my sister that made her worth loving, not the wreck she became."

Hermione considered as there was nothing in Bellatrix which had been worth loving, but she was too kind to say so. Instead, she listened.

'And Draco. It was-being with them- with Him-it was a poison. I hated...I hated Him. The Dark Lord. Hated Him."

"I'm so sorry."

Narcissa's was a grief which could not be named. It was disenfranchised, hidden, kept apart because the object of it was vile. But the horror of Bellatrix's final months had not wholly diminished the love her sister had borne her, nor made her loss easier to bear, for all it was salted with genuine relief that she could never hurt anyone again.

'Mother?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you feel as though...you can't...?"

"Yes. It isn't to be discussed. Some losses are not explicable, are they?"

Hermione looked down. 'Because sometimes it isn't just the loss, it's the potential of it."

"Quite. I'd imagine, child, it's worse for you. Bellatrix was a monster, I understand that. But your young man was not. People say we deserve what we get, and perhaps we do, but you and that boy...it was nothing either of you did. It was fate."

Hermione nodded. It was comforting, to hear it summed up thus. Fate. Wrong time, wrong place. 'Yes."

"I love my son more than anyone, and I'm thankful every day that he's so happy, but I wish it hadn't been at your expense."

Hermione was deeply startled by the admission. 'Mother?'

"I'd imagine that anyone listening to this would call us ingrates at best, wouldn't they? We survived. But it doesn't always feel like a mercy, does it?"

Hermione thought of what the future looked like to her. A long progression of chores and obligations, society dinners, balls, musical evenings. She cringed internally. Children. Sending them to school at eleven, the endless days with the silent house and the discreetly moving elves. Books. The occasional day trip.

"No. But it could be worse."

"This is what I admire about you, Hermione. You're always cheerful."

Hermione had never considered it in that light. She meant to keep going, was all. The idea of surrender, of putting up her hands and letting it all go, was foreign to her. To Hermione, the mere fact that a battle was doomed was no reason not to fight it.

"What else is there? Someone has to do it."

Narcissa laughed softly. 'My thoughts exactly! Someone must do the things no one else wishes to."

"I...sometimes I resent it. Do you feel that way?"

"Of course I do. But that is a woman's lot, darling. To clean up the messes and look cheerful about it."

"Sometimes I...I hate them a little."

"Whom?"

"Everyone. I get tired of being the bigger person."

"That's normal. But you do it well."

Hermione looked at her shoes. 'Thank you."

"That's an important thing, darling. To have that skill."

Hermione looked at her, eyes bright. 'Is it? It's only ever made me miserable."

Narcissa sighed and pulled her closer. 'Head down, that's the girl. Shhhh." She stroked the child's fringe from her eyes.

'Has it? Do you like how it makes you feel?"

"Sometimes. But sometimes I want them to go away and let me alone for a while."

"Very natural. But it speaks well of you that people bring their problems to you, hmm?"

"I-I suppose it does."

"Of course it does. And for what it's worth, I think Draco values that as well. Beyond the...imperative, I mean."

Hermione nodded. 'It's hard to know."

"Yes. But he'd changed so much in the last year. You brought me my son back." She gave the girl a final, gentle squeeze and then released her.

"You know, that first night, I thought, I thought we'd have to sedate you. Didn't hear a peep."

"Draco was holding me too tightly." Hermione remembered how it had been for her:

_Damp. Fresh from the bath, she lets Tibby dry her hair and help her into the nightgown again. Draco is waiting as she steps from the bathroom. He's wearing a nightshirt, like Hermione has seen on Masterpiece Theatre._

_"Isn't that so much better, darling? Come to bed now, and we'll cuddle a bit."_

_Hermione has no urge ever to cuddle again, but she knows he'll just drag her if she doesn't go. And it might get the elf in trouble._

_Draco lets her crawl in beside him, tense all over. He lies down, making sure she'd need to get over him before she could get out. Beaming, he presses her to his chest. She can feel his heart beating in his chest, regular as a little engine. In a moment of black, sucking hate, she wishes it stopped._

_But it doesn't, and she's glad, because even now, Hermione can't wish harm on someone. She forced herself to be as still as possible, not to give him the satisfaction of fighting or letting him know how scared all this makes her._

_Draco coos softly. 'You're awfully tired, dearest. Right to sleep, and your mood will be so much better tomorrow." His hand, rough from years of broom riding, gently insinuate themselves between her shoulder blades and rub. He's humming something. It sounds like a children's song. A lullaby._

_Hermione closes her eyes and forces herself to relax enough to sleep. It seems a cruel joke to her, now, that she survived so much, only to end up buried all the same._

Narcissa wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. The child looked hazy for a moment and then seemed to bring herself back. 'It wasn't so bad. He didn't hurt me."

"No. Draco wouldn't."

_In the master suite, Narcissa waits for the inevitable. Beside her, Lucius is also awake. Hands on chest, he breathes evenly, eyes open._

_'Darling?'_

_'Hmm?'_

_"Do you expect he'll be able to deal with her?"_

_"Hermione? She's five feet three, I should think so."_

_"I meant emotionally."_

_Lucius rolled to put his arms round her, and she snuggled into his warmth. No one on earth could make her feel as safe and loved as Lucius. She nestled against him and breathed his scent, cologne and rosemary oil and soap._

_'We've done our best to give him a good example, Cissy. And I told him off today for scaring the girl."_

_"He didn't try to...?"_

_"Just a kiss. She bit him."_

_"Bit him?"_

_"Slightly." Narcissa giggles despite herself, and Lucius joins her. She feels a tiny flower of liking unfold in her heart for the girl; biting a veela took spirit. If the last year has taught Narcissa anything, it's that sometimes a little boldness is all a person has._

_'He doesn't get this from me. Your son..."_

_'Why is he always my son when he does something like this?"_

_"You need to ask?"_

_"Hmph. As though your family never..."_

_"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you know my family never."_

_"Lying is a wrong act, Cissy, my love."_

_"You'd best stop, then."_

_They play and banter a little more, but both of them have an ear out for what they're sure will come, sooner or later. It never does._

The potions were done. Narcissa put the pictures back in her pocket and helped Hermione fill the phials, chatting the whole time about silly matters and bits of gossip.

"May I read it?"

"The refutation?"

"Yes."

"I...yes. Draco said he'd like to as well. May I make a copy?" Hermione was adept at copying spells, as everything else.

"Of course, my dear. It's yours, after all."

Holding her copy, Narcissa followed the girl up the stairs. She would read it. And if Hermione wanted it published, Narcissa suspected she would give her support. A girl bold enough to bite a veela, and kind enough to listen to her grieve for her monstrous sister...perhaps a girl like that deserved the chance to rip society apart.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** **Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**My apologies for the confusion in posting this. My laptop omitted part of the chapter.**

**I have decided against publishing the text of the Refutal, because it would inject an unwelcome hint of politics, and also because it would slow the story down. Feel free to PM to discuss this.**

**All quotes attributed to Virgillia Malfoy in this chapter were borrowed from 'Polite Academy' published anonymously circa 1773, and ten warped out of shape. My thanks and regrets to the author(s).**

** "A Sensible woman, knowing she is an object of love, born to be admired, strives therefore to cultivate those feminine attributes which we call correct in our sex: Modesty, Chastity, and Soberness in manner.**

As the women were sharing their private grief, the men were stirring. Lucius was working a crossword puzzle with Crookshanks' help. Draco knocked at the door as Lucius was contemplating aloud 'The digestive organ of a Hungarian Horntail."

Crookshanks snorted and gnawed the bedclothes a bit. 'The crop! Well done."

There was a knock at the door. 'Come in."

"Hello, Father. Have you seen Hermione?"

"Mother went to chat with her downstairs. I suspect they're having some sort of feminine cabal down there."

"Wouldn't surprise me."

"Me, neither. Sit down, love. How was your nap?"

It had been a fine nap, in fact. 'Excellent. I wish Hermione might have joined me, though. She's working herself quite a lot."

"Industry is next to obedience, Draco."

"Yes, Father."

"Is she writing the refutation?"

"She is."

"Hmmm. This should be interesting, to say the least."

Draco nodded and scratched the cat's velvety ears. 'Quite. I'd forgot how bright she really is."

"Of that, I'd never had doubt. I just worry she'll be disappointed by the results of this...thing."

"I was, too, but she might not even want to publish it. I think she just wants a diversion."

Lucius raised his eyes and smirked. 'Mmm hmm. And you believe this?"

"I'd smell if she were lying, Father."

"Touché. Another word for refulgent?"

Crookshanks leant over Lucius and nuzzled at the hand which bore his signet ring. Lucius smiled. 'Shining. Jolly good." The cat looked at Draco and seemed almost to smirk. 'Snide creature."

"Now, Draco."

"He sleeps on my head at night. Like a great, snoring fur hat."

"It means he likes you."

"Can't he like someone else for a night or so?"

Lucius chuckled. 'Do you remember when you were small and you'd have a nightmare, and come and get in bed with Mother and I?"

Draco groaned mentally. 'Yes, Father."

"You had very cold little feet, and you kick in your sleep. That's all I'll say."

"What, do you whisper in the cat's ear to suggest ways to torment me?"

Lucius looked affronted. 'A Malfoy, Draco, _whisper_ a suggestion? Of course not. I make implications to him quite openly."

Draco huffed. 'Ha ha. Between you and this pestilential beast and Hermione and Mother, a man can't get any peace at all."

"I shall cry myself to sleep tonight, Draco, truly. Now, what's a six letter word for purple?"

Hermione and Narcissa came up not long after, both of them bearing a copy of the refutation. Lucius raised an eyebrow and said nothing, but Draco, having decided he'd not seen enough of his wife, made excuses for both of them and led her back to their rooms.

"May I see, darling?"

She handed him his copy. 'Mother's got one, too."

"Perfect. You look tired, though."

"A little. Bit of a headache."

"Too much writing in dim light does that. Let's call for some of that headache potion you've been making and we'll cuddle a while." She drained the phial, knowing it was safe because she'd made it, and let Leesy undress her behind the screen the little elf had found them.

Draco had settled comfortably atop the covers, holding the sheath of papers. He was rather excited to read what Hermione had been working on for over a month, but he wanted her settled first.

When they'd first been married, it had frustrated Draco to no end that Hermione was totally unresponsive to his affection. He was used to a culture where people touched freely, where loved ones cuddled and caressed and nestled freely their whole lives (only in private, of course), and it had shocked and upset him when he'd try to show Hermione his feelings and she'd shove him away.

She was past that, of course. Without being told, or even asked, Hermione rested her head on his chest as he laid back, and he wrapped an arm about her. 'Try and have a rest, would you? It worries me that you get so little sleep."

"It shouldn't. I don't need much."

"Bollocks. Everyone's happier when they've had enough sleep."

"I feel pretty well, these days."

"Of course you do." He kissed the top of her head and her breathing evened. He figured the headache potion, with it's mild relaxing effects, was making her drowsy. He waited until he was sure she was sleeping and started to read.

Narcissa pretended not to see her husband's eyes wandering to her reading material. His eyes would slid over and try to skim, and she, all innocence, would move the paper ever so slightly to make it more challenging. Finally, pretence gone, Lucius grumbled with frustration and rested his head on his wife's shoulder.

"Cissy, darling."

"Lucius."

"Love."

"Is there something you might like?"

He mock frowned. 'There's a fine how do you do."

"Should you like to share with me?"

"I'd never dream of asking."

"Of course not. Here, I'll give you what I've read." She handed him a few pages and then they both settled back, Lucius smirking a little. 'Still have that Malfoy charm."

"I know, love. And it's very effective, as well."

"Got you to marry me."

"Well, your elves did make the best canard a l'orange I'd ever eaten."

"Hmmph." He playfully poked her in the side, and laughing a little, they set to the serious work of seeing what their daughter in law had wrought.

Draco firmly believed that Hermione was the smartest woman he'd ever met. She wasn't cunning, but for pure intellectual ability, she could match anyone, and maybe more.

So it didn't surprise him that what she'd written was excellent. He read it, trying as hard as he could not to have any preconceived notions. He found himself nodding at some points and disagreeing soundly at others, but at least he wasn't bored.

Hermione was deeply asleep and Draco was a quick reader-he'd read the whole thing by the time Hermione's lids started to flutter.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"What time'sit?"

"Oh, midnight."

Hermione immediately sat up, eyes wide. 'I slept that long?"

Draco chuckled. 'No, precious, of course not. I'm having you on."

She gave him a distinctly sour look and muttered something under her breath involving Crookshanks and loafers. Draco snorted. pointedly ignored the last bit, and then set the manuscript down on the bedside table.

"What did you think?"

Draco sighed. 'That you made some valid points, and some less valid ones. That it was well written. That I'm proud of you, darling, but that goes without saying."

Hermione smiled to acknowledge the praise and then cocked her head. 'What parts didn't you like?"

Draco sighed deeply. 'Angel, I don't understand your objection to the idea that women were made to be loved, for one. Men like to love women. Nothing makes me happier than doing something to please you."

"I appreciate it, Draco. I do. But...it puts women in a bad position. It encourages men to expect more of us than we can give, for one. Isn't every person made to be loved?"

"Yes, but it's special for women. Women are fragile and precious, especially women of quality. That's why I protect you from things which might upset you. Like that awful rat, remember?"

"That's just it, though. It's not good to overprotect people. From what I can tell, Draco, a lot of women of your-this-class wouldn't be able to function in the real world."

"Of course not. No one expects them to."

"Is playing quidditch dangerous?" Draco blinked. Hermione wasn't the scatterbrained sort who switched from one topic to another like a bird. He took her hand and held it.

"Yes, love. Well, it can be."

"But your parents let you play."

"Of course they did. It's a controlled kind of danger, more or less."

"So over-protecting you might not have been the best strategy?"

Draco's eyes widened. 'It's hardly the same."

"Why isn't it? Shouldn't women be allowed the chance to excel? To take a calculated risk?"

"Darling, a lady could be bothered by someone vulgar. Or else treated roughly, or-"

"Or you could have broken an arm, or crashed head first into the box, or perhaps got hit with a bludger's bat."

Draco recognised they were at an impasse. He couldn't help but laugh-she'd painted him deftly into the corner. He kissed her cheek and breathed her scent a long moment.

'Touché, Hermione. Thing is, though, that a lot of people won't see it that way. They won't be able to accept it in those terms."

"Oh.' Hermione wondered what Draco meant to do. He didn't seem to be trying to outright dissuade-or worse, forbid-her from this. What did he want?

'Would you help me?"

Draco didn't know what Hermione was playing at. Was she finally letting him in a bit?

"Help you?"

"Help me phrase things in a way that Wizarding people would respond to?"

"I could. I could do that."

Hermione wondered what the price would be. Draco seemed to be wondering that too, because he called for some pumpkin juice and sipped meditatively. 'All right. But you have to do something for me."

Hermione sipped her own juice and waited for it. 'What something?"

"Come away with me."

"Sorry?"

"We're having a honeymoon. Not right away, but as soon as everything's settled down, and you aren't taking any work with you. Fun only, understand? We'll go...somewhere...I don't know, wherever. But you're not to find a list of reasons about why we can't go, and you aren't to do anything serious while we're there. Agreed?"

Hermione nodded. She wondered why she'd made him the offer. He seemed to be sincere, she supposed, and she could the logic of what he was saying. And they'd be married forever-perhaps she could get to know him a little better this way.

"Agreed. And why don't I start teaching you ancient runes, as well? We talked about it a long time ago."

Draco nodded. 'Be damned nice to be able to read those things for myself. Have you written Potter and the Ministry yet?"

Hermione shook her head. 'I got busy."

"Well, why don't you do that? We'll see about supper after, hmmm?"

Hermione did it. She knew Draco would read the letters, and her own resignation disgusted her. But she could batter her head against the walls of convention as much as she liked, and it would avail her nothing. She felt as though her treatise, as small a step as it was, put her anger to use, made it a fine tool, like a scalpel, rather than something that could only crush, like a stick.

Draco hated leaving the cosy warmth of the bed, even in his mind. He smiled charmingly. 'Just have an elf bring the lap desk, love, please?"

"I need to get up, Draco. The brewing-"

"Will get done another day. The bed is awfully nice and warm, isn't it?"

Hermione huffed. 'Draco, we're being lazy."

"And?"

"There's things to be done."

"Like cuddling. And lounging."

"Draco!"

"Hermione!" He mimicked her tone so well that Hermione had to surrender, giggling a little, and he took advantage of the state of things by pulling her backward, pressing her lightly against the pillows and rolling atop her for a kiss.

Hermione flailed, trying to tickle even as she kissed back a bit. Draco snorted and tugged the blanket over them both, then fell to the serious business of inciting a tickle fight of epic proportions. Hermione laughed, writhing beneath him, and attacked his elbows, which prompted Draco to yowl, wriggling away, and then pounce again.

Abruptly, there came a knock at the door. 'Hello?"

"Hello, Father. Everything all right?"

There was a dry sort of pause from the other side. 'I daresay. Good evening, children." They heard his footsteps growing ever quieter, and then the click of the door latch.

In the dark warmth of the bed fur, Hermione and her husband stared at each other and then collapsed laughing. They weren't even aware of having their arms round one another, cuddling together in merriment.

Lucius closed the door behind himself. 'Love? Are the children all right?"

"I should say."

"What do you..._oh_."

"Indeed."

Narcissa giggled. 'Good for them."

"I don't know. If they don't stop to eat, Draco won't be strong enough for me to tease."

Narcissa sighed, rolling her eyes. 'I am so glad you've your priorities, darling."

"As well you ought to be." Lucius gave her his best sneer, and Narcissa, who'd been married to him for more than half her life, snorted and poked his belly. The sneer vanished, replaced by a grin.

"Do you think they were...'

"Laughing like maniacs. I've no idea."

"If they're laughing, they're doing it wrong."

"Not necessarily. Draco's awfully ticklish. Perhaps Hermione is as well.'

"This doesn't bear thinking about."

"Quite. Do you suppose this means we'll have to shift for ourselves in regards to supper?"

"I shan't go and ask the children, certainly."

Lucius kissed his wife's neck. 'Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

Crookshanks rose with a grumble of disgust. Honestly, humans and their urges! He made his way down the corridor, just in time to smell the impending arrival of elves, bearing trays of juicy meat and other delicious comestibles. That, at least, he could approve of in good conscience. He'd go and help the Big Cats eat, that was all.

Draco popped out from under the bedrobes in time to get what felt like a fuzzy orange bludger to the head. He gasped, flopping against the pillows as a defence mechanism. Crookshanks purred approvingly and began to knead Draco's chest, turning his head so he could watch Hermione at the same time.

"What a handsome boy, Crooks. Yes, you are. Yes, you are."

Draco gasped something. "-orange boulder-"

"Don't be silly, Draco. Crookshanks weighs a stone, if that."

"How comforting for me as he crushes my windpipe."

"He's showing how much he loves you."

"Adorable. Off, you damned throw-rug!" Crookshanks miaowed his disapproval and lay between them as Hermione began to hand feed him tender shreds of roast chicken.

'Hermione! Don't feed that beast your food!"

"There's plenty. And he works hard, defending us all from rats and other pests."

"Doesn't seem to work, I must get fifty letters a day from various people."

Hermione eyed him askance. 'Parkinson?"

"Among others. Now, let's eat supper and then we'll find something fun to do."

"We could start ancient runes."

"Fun, I said. We could read ghost stories or-"

"Explore the curios a bit more."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. 'Runes it is, then." He went to take a roll for himself and was stopped when Crookshanks climbed lazily into his lap, padding contentedly, stuffed with chicken and attention.

"Spoilt creature."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and ate a bit of fish. 'What? Never said I wasn't, you know."

"True."

And on that note, they settled down to eat, having made some small progress in understanding one another.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm so sorry this took as long as it did. Midterms hit like a rock, and then a bunch of other stuff. **

**So we're all clear on this, absolutely none of this was inspired by real life, especially not the part about being chased by vicious water fowl. This definitely never happened to the author, and she isn't nervously watching out the window this second (was that a wing I saw?)**

_'Games of a gentle sort are ideal to discover more about one's companions._'

-Virgilia Malfoy, 1816

When Draco was eight, he and Greg had flown off the top of one of the towers of Malfoy manor. Draco had flown directly at the ground, attempting a Wronski feint, and knocked himself unconscious after pulling up a moment too late. Besides the mild concussion, several bruises and cuts, and serious smacking he'd got from Father the second he was well enough, Draco had learnt a valuable lesson: practically everything was more fun than that series of events.

Ancient runes, as it turns out, was the exception which proved the rule. Draco listened to Hermione's earnest explanations, mastered the first dozen runes, and decided he'd rather be hurtling toward the ground again, destined for three days of bed-rest and a trip across Lucius' knee for being reckless.

He frowned and set down the pen. 'All right, darling, we've been responsible and done something worth while. Let's have some fun now.'

'We're only twelve in! There's twelve more to learn.'

'And plenty more nights to learn them in.'

'Let's take a break.' Hermione conceded, as Crookshanks leapt up and clamoured between them again, settling himself against Hermione's side. She rubbed his velvet ears and shook her head at her husband.

'Since we're taking a break, we ought to play a game.' Draco laid back against the pillows and raised an eyebrow at his wife. Crookshanks snorted pointedly-who wants to talk when there's a cat to pet?

Draco snorted right back. 'And you called me obnoxious, Hermione.'

Hermione smiled and kept rubbing the cat's head. 'What game did you want to play?'

'Mmm, do muggles play 'ask me'?'

'Ask me?'

'Mmm hmm. One of us asks a question and the other person answers it. If that person doesn't want to answer, he says 'ask me again' and the other person has to rephrase the question. After three times, the person being asked has to pay a forfeit if he still doesn't want to answer.'

Hermione frowned. 'Those sorts of games can make trouble.'

'Oh? How is that?'

'What if one of us asks something the other isn't ready to share?'

'If someone is getting uncomfortable, we'll stop, all right?'

Hermione gnawed her lip. 'All right. But just for a little while. We have another dozen runes to work on.'

Draco nodded, deciding he'd find a way to seduce her into playing until bed, or at least into agreeing they'd stop studying for the night. 'Who first?'

Hermione smoothed Crookshanks' silky neck. 'Who should go first, Crooks?'

Crookshanks stood with a grumble and braced both feet on Draco's chest, pushing gently, scrubbing his scent into the Man's neck and cheeks.

'That was definite. All right, then...hmmm. What should I like to know?' Draco absently smoothed the cat's fur as he pretended to think. 'Why this cat?'

'Sorry?'

'Why this cat, rather than another one? A kitten, say?' He kept stroking the cat; for all he teased everyone, Draco was aware of Crookshanks' role in Hermione's recent better mood, and he wanted to know more about the orange monster.

Crookshanks began his deep, rough purr, nuzzling closer, resting his head on Draco's shoulder. 'I wanted to get a kitten, actually. We went into the shop and Crooks was on the counter, on a basket...'

_Crookshanks has given up hope. Day after day, he lies in his basket in a forgot about corner of the Place, waiting for nothing. His Woman has died, and somehow, he ended up here._

_The door bell chimes and he doesn't bother to lift his shaggy head. But then he sees Her. A Girl, he thinks, a half grown Big Kitten, with splendid furry curls and a smell of paper and bread and outdoors._

_He rises from the basket and waddles over, smelling more. This is the first test. Is this little Human as clever as her smell indicates? He twines about her ankles._

_She bends, funny little Human face close to his.' Hello, there. What's your name?'_

_Crookshanks puts his head up and miaows. For a Persian (well, part Persian-he's a little less than half Kneazle, remember), he has an unusually loud and resonant miaow._

_She squats and offers a hand to be smelt. 'Aren't you handsome?' She is, Crookshanks thinks, shaping up. Could She be the one?_

_He stands up on his cobby little legs and rests his paws on either side of her neck, like a hug. The Girl makes a happy-grimace, showing her foolish little Human teeth, and presses him to Her chest._

_Crookshanks finds something he thought he'd lost forever: his purr. That decides him. He presses his cheek to hers, and allows his scent-redolent of contentment, now-to mingle with hers._

_'Dad? I know I said I wanted a kitten, but...'_

_The Man studies him, and Crookshanks swishes his tail proudly, and lifts his tufty ears. The man nods slowly. 'Certainly handsome, isn't he? And he likes you.'_

_The Girl carries him to the counter, and the witch behind it studies them. 'You're going to take him, then? About time. He's been here four years.'_

_Crookshanks nestles closer to the Girl. 'I can't imagine why.'_

_'He's ancient, for one. And stand-offish. You're the only person he's ever taken to.'_

_Crookshanks sneezes to show what he thinks about this. He's not stand-offish, he was just waiting for the right person, was all._

_The Girl snuggles him, and Crookshanks closes his eyes, realising that, at last, he's come home._

'Ah. That explains it. He didn't show his true nature until it was too late.'

'Draco!'

'Love?'

She rolled her eyes. 'I swear, the two of you are jealous of one another.'

'Not jealous, love. I just like having a pillow to myself.'

Hermione ignored the last and said 'My turn now.'

'Should I be afraid?'

Hermione considered gravely, trying to find a place between 'too heavy' and actual fact finding.

'What's your favourite part of living here?'

Draco smoothed her cheek. 'You, precious. You are.'

She flushed a little. 'I mean besides.'

'Oh. I quite like the wine cellar, I suppose. Nice to be master of my own establishment. But really, the best thing is we're all together.'

Draco cupped her cheek. 'My turn. What's yours?'

Hermione felt slightly embarrassed. 'The curios, or the library. Both, really.'

'What's your favourite food?'

'Roast suckling pig. What should I get you for Christmas?' Draco had decided to simply take the most direct course with that one, much though he felt Snape sneering at him from the afterlife.

'I've not thought about it. Maybe some more quills?'

'Hermione, at least say 'ask me again'.'

'All right. Ask me again.'

'What sort of thing that isn't boring should I get you?'

'Bedroom slippers.'

Draco's lower lip poked out a little. '_Hermione_.'

Hermione had to stifle a giggle, seeing the infamous Draco Malfoy, prat extraordinaire, pouting at her like a thwarted child.

'It's what I'd truly like.'

'Have me ask you again, love. Please?'

'Draco, I really don't know. I've everything I need.'

'Yes, but what can I get you that you'd _like_? Something pretty.'

'For my parents to come and visit us again.'

'Yes, of course. But that isn't a gift.'

'Ask me again.'

'What can I get for you once you stop being stubborn and tell me?'

'Can't I have some time?'

'Forfeit! I get to choose. Lie down, hmm?'

Hermione laid on her back, slightly uncertain. Draco gently pressed on her eyelids to get her to close her eyes and then stretched out beside her, then cupped her face lightly in his hands.

'Lie still, love. No opening your eyes and no wiggling.' Draco used the balls of both thumbs to trace Hermione's face, starting with the line of her forehead and travelling down, even touching both eyelids light as a moonbeam.

Hermione lay very still. She was past the point of anger at herself for being able to feel good again, but it still disturbed her, that Malfoy-Draco-could be so intuitive and so gentle with these things. She wondered whether he'd learnt any of this with Parkinson and shoved the thought away like a cloud of plague.

Draco finished on her soft little throat and then laid back. 'Your turn.'

'What would you like for Christmas?'

Draco shrugged. 'Maybe a muffler? Mine's from school.'

Hermione could knit one easily, and decided to invest in some high quality yarn, maybe even attempt a subtle pattern. She opened her eyes to study her husband. How strange it was, that she should call him that.

'Draco?'

'Hmm?'

'Does this even feel unreal to you?'

'No. But like you said, we've had rather different experiences.'

Draco stroked the cat's side, feeling the raspy purr. 'Do you think Crookshanks dreams?'

'Yes. I'm sure he does.' And she was right. Crookshanks sometimes wished he could tell the Big Cats what he saw in his sleep-faces and sounds, lights and silences and darkness. But he couldn't, and anyway, they lacked the facility to understand, being mere Humans and not cats.

'What did you fear most as a child?' Hermione hoped Draco wouldn't think the question too personal, but instead, he steepled his fingers and made a thoughtful face. 'Promise not to laugh?'

'Yes.' Hermione wondered what it could be, and why a small pinkish tinge was spreading across Draco's cheekbones.

'When I was a child, I used to go and feed the water birds at the pond-by the arbour? I'm not sure you've seen it-anyway, one day I dropped some of the crumbs and they must've fallen into the cuffs of my trousers, because next thing I knew, there were a whole mass of ducks trying to peck me. Scared the life out of me.'

Hermione tried desperately to suppress the mental image she was getting. 'I don't blame you. It must have been very scary, to be small and menaced that way.' And slightly hilarious, she reflected as she tried not to think about the little boy she'd seen in the pictures getting pecked at by ducks.

'It was, too. Nightmares for years. And other ones, of course, but really, who lets a three year old feed such nasty creatures? I get a very definite satisfaction every time I eat one of them.' He nodded, apparently satisfied all over again, and Hermione finally lost the struggle not to giggle.

'Hermione! You promised!' But Draco was giggling too, and when they'd sobered, he declared 'I'm going to get my revenge now, my girl. Hmmm...who gave you your first kiss?'

'Victor Krum' she said very promptly 'but won't this make you jealous?'

'No. It's much better for me now that we've...you know.'

'Oh. You?'

'Parkinson. We were eight. Neither of us liked it, at the time.' Draco folded his hands behind his head.

'What do you fear most? Not' he struggled for a way to describe what he meant 'not something abstract, an actual thing, like...dogs, or thunder storms.'

Hermione nibbled her lip. 'I once hurt someone badly. I'd never want to do that again.'

'How do you mean?' Was this an apology? Was Hermione feeling bad about having run off? His brow creased and Draco took her hand in his. 'Tell me about it.'

'Marietta Edgecombe. I cursed her fairly seriously, and I still feel a little guilty about it.'

That wasn't what Draco had expected, not at all. 'You mean to say all these years later, you've not forgiven yourself?'

'It wasn't a kind thing to do, or a sensible one.'

'But a clever one, and one that got the point across.'

Draco felt slightly put out that Hermione hadn't repented of her escape attempt, but he knew better than to push by this point. 'But that's not a thing, Hermione.'

'Is.'

'Isn't either. What else?'

Hermione looked down. 'Heights.'

Draco couldn't think of a less scary thing. 'Why is that?'

'Just don't like the whole idea, I suppose. Not enough...'

'Control?'

She was actually blushing! Too precious, he thought, and nuzzled her neck gently, smelling the cat's scent on her, and soap, and perfumed water. 'It's all right, you know. I shan't laugh a bit.'

Hermione looked down and found herself gently pressing her cheek to Draco's. She half froze, aware she'd hurt his feelings if she pulled away (and she was the sort of person to whom this mattered very much, even now), but not wanting to cuddle him, all the same. Being cuddled was one thing-she could always claim she was only following orders. But this...

Draco's heart was singing. Hermione moved her head a second later and he put his own up, beaming. He didn't need to say anything. Everything felt good to him.

'What about you? What are you afraid of?'

Draco's warm, slightly drunk feeling state of mind disinhibited him a bit. 'My aunt.'

'Bellatrix?'

'Yes.' He didn't stop smiling, but he also didn't like having Trixie in bed with them, even by proxy. Hermione sensed the slight dip in his mood and said quickly 'Your turn.'

'Hmmm...what would it take to get you to come flying with me?'

'Nothing. I'm capable, I just don't care for it.'

'What if I looked very sad? And perhaps managed a tear or two?' Draco scrunched his face up and sniffled piteously, much to Hermione's amusement.

'I'd rather not.'

'Please?' Draco gave her his best puppy dog eyes, and Hermione snorted helplessly. 'Honestly, Draco.'

'What? Girls love that sort of thing.'

'My turn: who told you that load of hippogriff's wallow?'

Draco grinned. 'Mulciber, actually.' He imitated the man's heavy brogue. 'Y'see, lad, you show 'em how sensitive y'are, and it loosens their thigh muscles, which is why ya mustn't do it to nice girls, y'see?'

Hermione knew intellectually that it had to have been more than plotting and torture, but she had trouble bending her perceptions round the idea of Death Eaters at play, Death Eaters teasing the youngest of their number with advice about girls.

'That's awful.'

'Well, perhaps I just need more practice.' Draco put his hands behind his head again and studied his wife. 'Ask me something.'

Hermione shook her head. 'We've twelve more runes, you know.'

'Hoped you'd forget.'

'I never do.'

'Noticed, actually.' Draco put his arms down and raised an eyebrow. 'Wouldn't it be loads more fun to play some more, though? Especially if the elves brought us something sweet to nibble on?'

'You're terrible.'

'It's why the cat likes me. We're alike.'

'I won't disagree with that.'

'Hmmph.'

Hermione laid down next to her husband. 'I've a question.'

'Do tell.'

'What do you think happened to Hypatos Black's son?'

Draco shrugged. 'Don't know. I imagine you've an idea.'

'As it so happens, I do.'

'We'll eat sweets and you can tell me all about it.'

The elves brought up berries and cream, chocolate bon bons and marzipan treats. They tucked in, and Hermione said, very quietly 'I've not got an answer from the archives yet, and Harry's not found anything, but I think...'

'


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**This ended up as a continuation of the last chapter, somehow. Thank you to everyone who shared their story of villanious fowl-it's cool to know I wasn't the only one (mine were actually geese, but I can't imagine Lucius and Narcissa wanting such a common bird on their property).**

_'A woman's ideas can be valuable, so long as she understands the limits of her fragile understanding and defers to the greater sense and worldliness of her husband.'_

_Attilius Goyle_

Draco's memory of the night of his change was blurry, which was probably best, in the end. He had a memory of necking with Parkinson, coming home, then...nothing, until his Hermione, freshly scrubbed and smelling intoxicating, crawled into bed for a nice rest.

'...was part veela. Is it possible that he was getting violent because he was separated from his mate?'

Draco shook his head to clear it. 'Mmm hmm.'

Hermione frowned. 'Draco?'

'Sorry, love. I'm listening, I am. Just thinking about that night, was all.'

'In the Manor?'

'Yes. Snape was...there, I think, but I can't recall what he was saying.' He frowned himself, nibbled some marzipan, and found in his memory only a shifting, amorphous mass.

'Would he have had some information?'

'Likely he would, but I don't know how we'd get to it. I don't even know his next of kin, for all he was my godfather.'

'Was he?'

'You didn't know?'

'No.'

Draco picked up a bon bon and tried to pop it into Hermione's mouth. She pulled her head back, deep in thought, and he glowered before he ate it himself. 'Hmmph.'

'Sorry. I'm just wondering if we could find out who his next of kin would be so we could try to get his notes.'

'Do you think it would do any good?'

'It might. I really do want to know.' Hermione was thoughtfully tugging at a curl, brain going at a speed that others would have found terrifying, had they been able to see into her mind.

Draco was also cogitating. He'd discarded the idea of finding the answer in his memory, and, as was his wont, had moved on to finding a solution without a twinge of regret. The past was the past. He'd ask Father, was all, and Father would know, because Father always knew these things.

Hermione looked round. Some people, she knew, believed that houses absorb the energy of those that live in them. If so, had this room taken in some of the pain and despair that Hypatos Black had felt? Had it taken hers? Narcissa's, when she thought Lucius might die?

When the event-whatever it was-had come upon them, the inhabitants of the castle had fled, feelings, perhaps, the stones themselves had become transmuted, feeling their own pain was a prison which they fled at the price of the castle and everything in it.

She stretched, cracking her neck, and gave Crooks a scratch on the chin. He snuffled happily, rolling on his back, and she dug her nails gently into his chest, into his downy undercoat. Crookshanks purred.

'Do you think' Hermione didn't want to offend 'the mate thing might have done it? Made him violent?'

Draco nodded immediately. 'Yes.' He thought of how he'd felt before she'd come home, pulse racing, heart hammering, soaked with sweat, head pounding, mouth dry. Without thinking about it, he reached up to touch his darling's face, cooing softly, filled with relief that she was with him.

Hermione was still thinking and absently rested her head a second. 'But what could have caused that sort of reaction? I'd imagine the Blacks could make anything they wanted to happen.'

'Of course they could. We'll do some research and then we'll see, hmm?'

Hermione felt a sort of gratitude that they had, at least, been spared that. Not that she felt it right, mind-she had been ill used by the law, and the fact her life was far from objectively terrible did nothing to ameliorate her sense of unfairness.

Draco was wondering something for the first time. 'Love?'

'Draco?'

'Were you very afraid?'

'Afraid?'

'After the hearing. I'd the impression you were more angry than anything.'

'At the time, I was. After it became obvious you weren't going to...well, I didn't get afraid until later.'

Draco knew what she was going to say. 'You thought I meant to, to hurt you?'

She saw no point in a lie, and wouldn't have if she had. If they couldn't be honest with one another, it was all moot anyway. 'You got on top of me. Yes, I thought...yes.'

Draco blinked. He didn't feel offended, exactly. He'd asked her to share, urged her to share, and he'd known at some level there were no guarantees that what she'd share would be salutary. But that didn't mean he liked it.

'I'm not sure I know what to say, angel.'

Hermione took a breath. 'It's past now.'

'Yes, but it's dreadful to know that you felt afraid at all. Angry I understand, but afraid...' He chewed his lip thoughtfully, nestling closer to take her hand.

Hermione inhaled deeply. 'After that night with-that night-I realised how much power you actually had, I suppose, and that there was no out. It was hard.'

She'd spent long, terrible nights almost alone with that knowledge. Not totally alone, because Draco had been dozing beside her, arm thrown over her like a child with a stuffed toy.

'I explained to you. I explained everything.' Draco felt genuinely confused. He _had_ explained, and she'd never told him she was afraid. He would have fixed it, had she had done. Somehow, he would have made it all better.

'Yes, you did. But that didn't necessarily make it easier.' Hermione was remembering things she didn't want to probe. She swallowed hard and shook her head briskly to clear it, curls bouncing.

'Something wrong, love? I'm so proud of how well you're sharing.'

Hermione shook her head again. 'It might be best to let sleeping dogs lie.'

'Sorry?'

'To talk about something else.'

Draco couldn't. He had to know, but he always wanted to keep from scaring her again. He ordered an elf to snuff the lights and take the remains of their lasts away. 'I would prefer to talk a bit more about this, if we could. We'll cuddle, and you needn't look at me.' He laid back and opened his arms to her, wanting her to come to him, wanting to understand.

Hermione slowly sat back, moving Crookshanks to her other side. 'Draco, I...' Her grief was healing, slowly, but it could rip open again like scar tissue. She couldn't bear that. She couldn't.

From her right ear, Draco's voice was low and rough. 'Love, please? I can't stand to know I made you scared.' Hermione felt a sort of wonder, and a terrible, dark pleasure, feeling her control over him, knowing she could refuse him this.

Wouldn't. She took a very deep breath. 'It was just very hard to adjust, was all. I felt trapped.'

Draco ran a hand through his hair, noticing absently he needed a haircut. 'I had that impression. Your reactions rather startled me, honestly.'

'How so?'

He kissed her neck. 'You just seemed so...closed off, I suppose. So angry.'

'I was.'

'Are you still?'

'Sometimes I am.'

'At me?'

'I was then. You were not always inclined to explain.' Hermione thought of how she'd seethed, those first weeks, the endless days of doing nothing, attached to Malfoy. How she'd _hated_ him! How she'd hated everything and everyone!

'I didn't realise how different it was for you, I expect. Everyone I know lives like we do, and...'

'Did it never...you never had a moment of wavering, Draco? No regrets?'

Draco shook his head. 'No. It cut my life quite in two.'

Perhaps that was the trouble, Hermione thought. His life had been severed cleanly, and hers had not. She had carried things with her, forced to shed them like pioneers tossing their books and basins over the sides of their wagons as they crossed the burning plains in the books she'd read as a child.

'I went to speak to Him, and then...nothing until you climbed into bed, and smelt so good, and your hair all damp.' He smiled at the memory, a little, in the dark, and wished he could make her see what he did, how sweet she had looked, and how he'd only meant to make her feel safe.

Hermione's memory of that time was, to say the least, less rosy. Glad of the dark, she pulled the fur higher, jostling the snoozing Crookshanks and getting a pointed snort in reply.

Draco smelt her mood plunge and he decided to back off this subject for the moment. 'Love?'

'Yes?'

'When did Krum kiss you?'

Hermione turned to him. 'Sorry?'

'Viktor Krum. I want to know all about the world's greatest seeker. Is he a good kisser?'

'I suppose. He's very shy. Sweet, but very shy.'

'Mmm. I'm a little surprised you'd be attracted to someone like that. I mean, given that you and...well, you know.'

Hermione nodded. 'It was pleasant. He never asked anything of me, really. He just wanted us to enjoy one another's company.'

'And you didn't like that?'

'I did, but...it's nice to be needed, I suppose.'

'Is it? Must get tiring.'

'Yes. What about you and Parkinson?' Hermione felt a bit safer here-she knew it wouldn't hurt him, unlike his mentions, no matter how gentle, of Ron.

'Pansy's a very...she's quite...honestly, I have nothing.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows, unseen. 'You must. You almost married her.'

'Yes, of course. She's exactly what one might suspect she is.'

'Is that good?'

'It's not bad.' As Draco compared the two women in his mind, he considered what he knew of each of them. He'd cared about Pansy, certainly-she was a perfect exempla of their class, she had every social grace, and she looked good on his arm, dressed well, always knew what to say to flatter his vanity.

But then he thought about his Hermione, her silences, her frowns of concentration, her earnest, well scrubbed face. She didn't know much about fashion, but she could talk about things outside Pansy's scope. As hard as it had been to adjust to, Draco thought it rather pleasant to be able to discuss things with Hermione, be able to profit from her intelligence and good sense.

'I was raised with certain expectations, darling, and she met them. And she's not so bad, when one gets to know her.'

Hermione considered as she'd rather dig out both eyes with her knitting needles than get to know Parkinson, but she was too well bred to say a thing like that. She contented herself with a diplomatic nod.

'What did you expect to find in a husband?'

'Muggle or magical?'

'Muggle, I suppose. I don't know how these things are done amongst muggles.' He wondered if Hermione had expected to be sold, auctioned off to the highest bidder. Did muggles marry at all? Did they just mate like animals in the fields?

'A companion. Someone with similar interests and life goals, and the same sort of philosophy, probably. Muggles usually marry someone more or less like themselves.'

'Ah. Not so different, then. Had your father picked someone out already?'

Hermione thought he was teasing. 'No, of course not. Muggles don't do things that way.'

'Really? How do they choose, then?'

'People find someone they like and that's that. Mum and Dad met at the school canteen. Dad asked Mum to go for a walk with him and that was that.'

Draco felt genuinely appalled. 'Truly? Is that why they married? Did they have to?'

'No. Have to?'

Draco stepped carefully. 'Did her family find out and make them marry?'

'Because they'd taken a walk?'

'Alone, yes. Not to imply that your father...' which was exactly what he was implying, naturally.

'No. They dated-went places together- a while and then decided to marry. It was 1976. They were both twenty.'

'What did your father give your mother's family?'

'You mean like gifts?'

'Of course.' His own family's gifts had been quite lavish- did muggles expect nice things from other muggles for bride price?

'Nothing. Muggles don't do that, either.' Hermione felt as though she'd fallen down the rabbit hole again. Beside her, Crookshanks yawned and flipped onto his side in order to knead her belly better.

'Oh.' He wondered whether it would upset Hermione for him to probe a bit more. 'Darling, is it true that muggles sometimes, ah, act as husband and wife, together before marriage?'

'Yes, most people do.' She and Ron had, after all, though not without some gentle encouragement on her part. And Mum and Dad had lived together a year before they decided to marry, though she'd conveniently forgot to tell Draco that.

'I can't even imagine. How terrible that must be.'

'Terrible?'

'Of course. A person can't be prepared for a thing like that unless he's got support from someone older and wiser.'

Something occurred to Hermione. She smothered a grin. 'Draco, how old were you when you found out where babies come from?'

Draco felt his face flushing, even in the dark. 'Eighteen.'

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from giggling. 'Your father never...?'

'Before the wedding he did, of course. But I mean, why would someone...it's not something we discuss, really.'

'Ever?'

'No need. Telling children about it would just make them curious.' He remembered his half furtive, half daring attempts to brush Parkinson's skirt covered thigh or touch her foot with his under a table.

'You?'

'Five. I asked Dad one day and he told me.'

Draco sat up straight, shocked beyond shocked. 'What?'

'Draco?'

He relaxed a bit. 'Hush, it's all right. I mean, he just told you everything?'

'Not everything all at once, but if I had a question, my parents answered it. Didn't you ever ask your parents anything?'

'Well, sometimes. What made you ask?'

Hermione felt slightly annoyed he'd brushed her off. 'A friend of my mother's, Mrs. Smyth, was pregnant, and I asked how the baby got in her belly.'

'Oh. One never sees a Pureblood lady in that state.'

'What?' It was her turn to be shocked. 'How do you mean?'

Draco patted her arm. 'Once a lady is too far advanced to conceal her condition, she stays in private until the baby comes. And then the baby stays inside until it's old enough to go out.'

'You've never seen a pregnant woman, Draco?'

'At some point, surely, but it's never been pointed out to me as such.' Robes, he knew, could hide a great deal, and he'd surely been in contact with a woman in the family way without realising.

Hermione was thinking much the same. 'Muggles used to do that.'

'Conceal these things?'

'Yes.' She suddenly wondered whether she would have to do a thing like that someday. Without meaning to, she reached down and patted her stomach, contemplating months of boredom, surrounded by elves who thought it a holy mission to keep her from any useful work.

Draco felt her move. 'You aren't...?'

'Not that I know of. You'd have smelt it, wouldn't you?'

'I should think. Not that I'd mind a bit, you understand.'

'I know.'

'You'd mind.'

'For now.'

He shrugged. They had decades. Wizarding people could have children into their seventies and eighties, after all, and neither of them was twenty yet.

'We'd do everything we could to see you were comfortable, you know. During.'

'I know. I'd miss doing things, though.'

Draco nuzzled her neck. 'Mmm, but then we'd have an excuse to stay in bed all the time.'

Hermione snorted. 'You'd be very proficient in runes by the time it was born.'

Draco sighed with horror. 'That backfired with startling rapidity, didn't it?'

'We've still the last twelve, you know.' Hermione spelled the candles back up, and Draco, wishing for a final time that he was standing poised on the lip of the tower's roof, obediently took up his quill.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black.**

**Sorry it took so long. The quoted passage is from the Ars Amatoria, by Ovid, and the smaller quote from Catulus.**

_'Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.'_

_-Of the Joining of Lovers, 4th century CE_

A number of interesting discoveries came on the residents of Castle Black in the next few days, in sequence, though of course, that was not apparent to those living the events at the time.

The first one was that Hermione woke up with a head cold. Not a very serious one, and in her usual practical manner, she took a potion and shook off the flailing, hysterical arms of Leesy, who was determined that Madam should die if she didn't take to bed immediately, and Draco, who wanted an excuse to lounge.

'Draco, it feels like we've been in bed for weeks.'

'But we've got to know one another.'

'Yes, we have, but it does get dull. Unless you wanted to work on runes a bit more...'

Draco huffed loudly. 'All right, then.' He stood and came up behind her, sliding his arm round her waist.

'I enjoyed it.'

He was slightly startled when she relaxed her spine a bit and looked up at him. 'It was good to get to know one another.'

That was the first event. Despite her cold, Hermione spent a very productive morning in the kitchens, meeting with the house keeper and cook, doing the many small and nagging tasks associated with the running of a castle.

Those things have nothing to do with the second discovery, which was Draco's. He also got dressed, and saw to his own small and boring responsibilities (those were also not discoveries).

Having exhausted his chores, Draco wrote some letters, read the newspaper, and then wandered to the library. It was quiet. He looked round, frowning darkly.

The discovery came about an hour later, when, on a whim, Draco climbed one of the ladders, looking into the honeycombs. He found nothing of any real note in most of them (close, but not quite), but as he was climbing down, something caught his eye.

He pulled his wand and swished. 'Lumos.' The tip lit, he checked the inside of the comb for anything creepy crawly and then pulled out the scroll. The end was red, as though it had been dipped in paint.

Carrying it to the table, he sat, and unrolled the thing reverently, as Hermione would kill him if he ripped a scroll. Thinking of his wife made him smile. And then, when he saw what the scroll was about, his smile fell off his face like a dead bird plunging through the window.

Eyes widening, Draco sat very, very still for a moment. The figures on the papyrus were...they were...moving. He couldn't believe...but how could they possibly have...but ...

This was essentially Draco's first real contact with pornography. He'd seen his share of spicy photographs of witches in their skivvies, but never people locked in carnal embrace with such exuberant abandon.

His first thought was that no one could find this, especially the ladies. It would upset them both terribly. And it would be a lot for Father's heart. The second was that this was, by far, the most scandalous and terrible thing he'd ever seen. The third was that it was also the most erotic, and so he sat down and read, heart hammering.

While also not strictly an event, it bears mentioning that Lucius and Narcissa were not there for the day-had they been, events would have played out differently. Lucius had been called to testify, and after he'd been deposed, they were going to pay a few social calls, which they'd been unable to do since the whole veela thing started.

So Draco was alone in the library, uncomfortably aware that he was growing erect from the visual stimulation of the scroll. He absently reached down and touched the swelling head through his trousers, too overwhelmed to even consider masturbation at the moment. He just stared, entranced, and then the third event happened.

Hermione was looking over the grocer's accounts when an elf popped into the room. 'Madam is getting package!'

'Bring it to me, please, Minky, and then let Master know.'

All that was duly handled, and Minky bowed himself into Draco's presence. 'Madam is opening it?'

'Circe's bleeding bubbies, elf!' Draco covered the scroll with his hands. 'It's from Potter?'

'Yes, Master.'

'Tell Madam I trust her judgement, of course.' He waved and went back to his scroll, blushing. He wasn't the only one. Hermione was disgusted by how pleased she felt, how absolutely thrilled.

She slit the twine of the parcel and opened it. The top book had a piece of parchment shoved haphazardly in. Should she take it? Should she send it to Draco?

She slid it out and opened it, determined to have this for herself.

'Dear Hermione,

How are you? We're all well. I'm sorry there wasn't more in Grimmauld Place to help you. There used to be loads but we couldn't find anything else.'

Harry'

Hermione put the note into a pocket with slightly shaking hands. Her grief was like the blunt edges of an old diamond, worn down by handling but still hard. She swallowed and decided that crying would start the elves running, and that would bring Draco.

She let the grief move over her like a wave, crest, and then recede. Sitting, she opened the first book and started to read.

Draco was also reading. He'd finally noticed that there were words as well as pictures, and he was engrossed. The scroll was a fifteenth century copy of a Roman original, which had borrowed from certain Greek texts quite heavily. He was translating effortlessly, reading aloud to himself.

'..._let a woman noted for the length of her body_

_press the bed with her knees and arch her neck slightly._

_She who has youthful thighs and faultless breasts,_

_the man might stand, she spread, with her body downwards_...'

Draco shifted. Most of the words were directed to the man, but some of them were for ladies, and they weren't exactly sparing. Nor did they reflect the idea that women didn't like it, or want it. If anything, the bloke who wrote the scroll seemed to think that women liked it as much, or more, than men.

He finally stood, legs shaking a bit, and walked up and down the library for a moment. He experienced no sea change, felt no especial imperative to disregard everything he'd been taught. But it kept striking him how happy the people in the scrolls seemed.

He'd never made Hermione happy that way. He'd managed not to hurt her, and he was scrupulous in his attentions to her after, but she didn't like it, and he'd never expected her to.

But could he help her like it? What if he did? Would he hurt her? Draco worried she pushed herself too hard like it was. Suppose he did something that hurt her inside, somehow?

And if he didn't? It wouldn't change anything. She'd keep pretending not to hate it, and he'd keep lavishing her with attention afterwards to make up for doing it to her. But that seemed...wrong, somehow? He spent so much time trying to make her happy, and it seemed easy, reading this.

Hermione was working as hard as he or harder. She'd asked for pen and parchment and was feverishly taking notes about what she was reading. It was bare bones, but her mind was buzzing at a frenetic pace, and filled the gaps well enough for her have a working hypothesis.

Hypatos Black didn't appear in the historical record in any meaningful sense until 1521, when his wife had gone missing. She'd been missing for some time-several weeks?-and then, one day, had returned.

The next event was the birth of an heir. Hermione stopped and read that part twice. Hypatos' wife had disappeared in their castle in Northumland in November, having gone to gather shrews' toenails with an elf, who was found dead in the forrest near the Keep.

She'd come back in early January, mute and shivering, but unharmed. The baby, a boy, had been born in August, which made it possible-barely-that Black had fathered it. They'd called him Damocles. Was it irony?

If Black didn't think he'd fathered the baby, he never let on. The family once again faded from public awareness, meriting only a slight mention when the wife died twelve years later. She'd apparently got her voice back, though whether she ever spoke of what had happened was unknown.

Then, silence, until the son was seventeen. There had been, she surmised, some kind of incident, but what kind was ambiguous, as the pages had been torn roughly from their bindings.

She set down the book and decided to lodge another request to the Ministry. An elf appeared, and Hermione accepted the tea she was being offered with a smile. 'Where is Master?'

'Being in library, Madam. Should Tinky be getting Master?'

'No, thank you. I'll go and see him, all right?'

She rose and walked to the library without stopping to consider what her husband might be doing. The door was open, and she stepped in without a thought, came to the table and said 'Draco?'

Draco jumped. 'D-darling?'

'Harry's sent a book. I've some ideas.' She was almost glowing, filled with the new information, and Draco's erection grew epic, almost painful in intensity.

'Oh, have you? That's wonderful.'

Draco stood and moved them away from the table, not caring about the scroll right now, only wanting to see how excited she was, and how happy it made him to see her smile.

Hermione outlined her conjecture. 'So the next step is Northumberland.'

'That castle was destroyed in, I think, 17-something. Accident with Fiend Fyre, messy for everyone.'

'We don't need the castle, Draco. We need to know about the veela population at the time. Madam Black was taken in the woods. I think a veela did it.'

'And then returned her after weeks?'

'Maybe it died. Or let her go for some reason.'

'I suppose so. Stranger things have been heard of, I should think.'

Hermione nodded and started to stand. Then she noticed the scroll on the table. 'I didn't disturb you, did I?'

'Never.' She still smelled happy and effervescent with new ideas, and pleased, as well, with him. It was incredibly heady, almost alcoholic, and Draco reacted as much on instinct as thought.

He smiled down at her and said 'Let's have your parents for dinner this afternoon, shall we?'

Hermione froze for a second and then broke into a grin. 'Draco! Truly?'

'Of course, angel.' His heart felt like it would burst when Hermione's response was to thrown her arms round his neck. 'Thank you!'

'Shall we invite them right now?'

And so they did. Hermione was nearly effervescent, waiting for them, excitedly asking the elves to set extra places, changing into nicer robes, even letting Leesy apply a little rouge to her cheeks and a drop of Narcissa's perfume to her neck.

It ought to have made Draco's week, seeing her glowing with pleasure, but it had the opposite effect. He'd known it was easy to make Hermione happy this way, had done it before, but somehow, he'd let this slip through the cracks in the grind of the past few weeks.

His stomach clenched. She'd never complained, not once, but the evidence of her pleasure in such an easy thing was worse than one of Pansy's screaming tantrums. He couldn't let it happen again, was all.

He caught her as she came back from a final word with the cook. 'Precious?'

Hermione went white. 'Did something happen, Draco?'

He knew what she meant. Would he still let them come? He kissed her cheek. 'Everything's all right, darling. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry that schedule we worked out lapsed, is all.'

Hermione nodded. 'Thank you, Draco.' Had he ever apologised to anyone who wasn't her, aside from his parents? She felt absurdly touched, and tried to react in the same way she would with anyone else. She leant over and put her arms round him for a second.

Draco froze for a second, but only a second. He hugged her back, hard, wishing he could make her feel his own happiness, and his pleasure in her joy at seeing her parents.

Hermione didn't know how to end the embrace, but fortunately she was spared the awkward ending by a 'pop'. 'Hermione?'

'Mum! Dad!' She stepped back and ran to embrace her parents. Draco felt empty, wishing he didn't have to release her. But he knew his role, and stepped forward to greet his in-laws.

Over the galantine of calf's tongue and a fine white wine, the muggles regaled them with stories of people Draco didn't know and long screeds about muggle politicians. If Draco had known what an anthropologist was, he would have pretended to be one. As he didn't, he decided he would store all this knowledge to tell Father and see what he thought.

'And he came and got the cat?' Hermione turned to Draco. 'Our neighbour's cat is in love with Dad.'

'Ah.' Draco nodded sagely, trying to imagine this playing out. Cyril Granger took a sip of his pumpkin juice (they had to go back to work, after all) and looked sour.

'Not until the damned thing laid all over my chair. Hair everywhere.'

Hermione giggled. 'You think you didn't like it, Dad.' She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. 'Dad pretends to hate cats, but he really likes them very much.'

Draco was too shocked to reply. He teased Father, sometimes, but he wouldn't have dared openly poke fun at him to a third party. Stranger, the muggle didn't seem to mind. He smiled back and pretended not to hear. Not what Draco would have expected, not at all.

The Grangers had to go back after a very brief time, and the rest of the day went in the usual fashion. Hermione didn't seem quite as downcast after they left this time, in part because they agreed to return the following week.

Just after they left, a storm blew in from the sea. It gripped the castle like a lover and opened it's arms to buffer them with winds. No snow, not yet, but winds enough to keep the Malfoys visiting another hour or two.

Draco asked her to bring the book to the library so he could look at it. Without being told, Hermione silently handed over the note, and Draco smiled and said 'Meant it. I trust your judgement.'

Hermione blinked a tear. 'It means a good deal to me that you said that, Draco.'

Draco smelt her tears and stood, putting his arms round her. 'Angel? Talk to me?'

She shook her head, smiling a bit. 'I feel like we're moving ahead. Do you feel it too?'

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers, and guided her to a divan.

Hermione was almost too startled to say anything. 'Draco?'

He shook his head. 'Is it all right?' He'd always been a quick study, after all. He remembered the scroll, the happy, obscene people in it, and applied the pictures and the words.

Hermione inhaled, surprised. His hands were gently drifting over her skin. He wasn't taking this time, he was...what? Exploring? Sharing? Hermione rose up long enough to shuck her robes as Draco silently did the same.

Draco lightly pushed her back. 'May I?' He didn't think he would answer, but she finally said 'Yes'.

And so he did, taking care to see that she liked everything he did, moving slowly. She even helped him with his own clothing, a bit. He wasn't brave enough to try any of the really strange things he'd seen, but it was a start, and Hermione startled him by helping once or twice. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't awful, either.

That was another discovery, that it could be something other than ugly and shameful. If they tried. If he tried. But even that wasn't the most important discovery, though that one wouldn't be for another few weeks. All of these just set it in motion.

That was the biggest and the most important by far, but it wouldn't have happened unless Hermione had had a head cold and Draco had found a scroll and the Malfoys had left and the Grangers come for about the same amount of time, less a sweaty, shocking hour or so on a divan. This one was when there _was_ snow.

Standing in the courtyard, halfway through a snow witch, Hermione turned to her husband and said 'I'm going to have a baby.'


	27. Chapter 27

**Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**Strange but true: Mature, fertile female cats as called Queens (Queans, in British English) and the act of littering is called 'Queening/Queaning'. Strangely appropriate, I would say.**

Lucius Malfoy, comfortably ensconced in his easy chair, set down his glass and eyed the cat with speculative good humour. 'Well, cat, I'm to be a grandfather. What do you think about that?'

Crookshanks snorted. _It's _my _Girl who's queening, you know._

'Nature just took her course, I'd say, but I wish this had happened a year from now. It seems like quite a lot, very fast.'

_They'll figure it out. Younglings always do. We did, after all._

'Draco's a good, serious minded boy. But he'll be crushed if she doesn't reciprocate his feelings someday. I don't suppose you've any suggestions on that, hmm?'

Crookshanks pushed his head into the man's side and laid down, comfortably surrounded by warmth and the smell of the man's...stuff that humans wore. He grunted and settled down, finally lifting his head a bit.

_None. I don't feel old enough for my Young to have littered, do you_?

There were days Lucius could almost swear the cat understood him. He shook his head and sighed. 'They've got Narcissa and I, of course. And yourself.'

Crookshanks yawned and let his eyes slide shut. _And that could make all the difference._

They also had the elves, who were over the moon to say the least. As soon as the carriage touched ground, the elves were fighting to help them out. Ushered into Lucius and Narcissa's sitting rooms, cloaks shed, the three apprised the patriarch of what had been said.

'...And the healer says five pounds a week. I daresay the cook will have some ideas about that.' Narcissa finally came up for air and smiled brightly at her husband. 'And how did you do while we were gone, love?'

Lucius shrugged elegantly. 'The same as usual. I'd ask how you are, Draco, but I see there's no need.' His son hadn't stopped smiling since he came in, and had been absolutely glowing the last few days.

Draco nodded cheerfully. 'Yes, Father.' He slid his hand into Hermione's and squeezed. 'Precious, I think there's a parcel for you. Shall we take it to the library and open it?'

Hermione nodded. She felt much as she ever had, except for her constant knowledge that another human being was growing under her heart. She rose, nodded politely to the Malfoys, and led the way.

As soon as the children had gone, Lucius turned to his wife, who was sipping at some of the hot tea the elves had brought her. 'How is she, Cissy?'

Narcissa looked down. 'Would that I knew. Struggling, I would say.'

'I don't blame her.'

'She's an awfully brave girl.'

'I think so, too. God help us if something should happen.'

'Happen?'

Lucius nodded and looked into the fire. 'I expect he thinks the baby will make it all better.'

Narcissa nodded. 'You noticed, too?'

'Of course. And I just don't think...'

His wife squeezed his hand just as their son had done his wife. 'We'll slay that dragon when it comes, hmm?'

'I love you, Cissy.'

'And I you. Since we were children.' And they sat together, in comfortable silence, and wished for a miracle.

Draco didn't much care about the mystery. It kept his wife occupied, and at least she wasn't writing another refutation. But he would do nearly anything to indulge her, especially something harmless that made her as happy as this seemed to make Hermione.

She slit the twine and raised her eyebrows. 'It's from Kingsley. Draco, did you ever talk to Snape about his heir?'

'No, of course not. I assume everything went to the school.'

'Most of it did, according to this. But his notes were preserved, and those go to you. Apparently, you're his heir.'

Draco hadn't expected that. 'That's...splendid, I suppose. So we've his notes now?'

Hermione nodded, handing him a small lump roughly the size of a pack of playing cards. Draco flipped it and studied the tiny, dense notations on it.

'We'll have to enlarge them. According to this, there's quite a lot there.'

Draco set it on the closest table and enlarged it. The thing exploded; the room was filled with what had to be at least five boxes of parchments and perhaps more.

Hermione picked up a sheath of paper and nodded thoughtfully. 'That's a clever spell. Some sort of variation on the Shrinking Charm, would you say?'

Draco nodded. 'Snape always was handy that way. Should we look at the books first?'

'That's more practical, definitely. We can ask the elves to store everything else and then categorise it later.'

She sat down and studied the things from the archive. 'Kingsley really went all out for us.'

Draco quite liked that his wife was on first names terms with the Minister of Magic. He looked everything over, watching Hermione from the corner of his eye, and noticed she had a strange look on her face, but only for a moment.

'Leesy' the elf appeared, bowing. 'Would you ask the other elves to box all this up and find a good place for it? It's very important.'

Leesy nodded. 'Then Madam is lying down?'

'No, of course not. I feel fine.' Hermione shook her head and gave the elf a sharp look to dissuade any further attempts.

Leesy would not be beaten so easily, however. She turned to Draco. 'Master is taking a nap?'

'No, Leesy. Madam and I want to explore.'

The elf frowned. 'Leesy is bringing something else, then?'

'That will do, but thank you.'

Hermione was only half listening. She picked up the first book, evidentially some sort of manifest or record book and started to skim, nodding absently. Draco finally couldn't take it anymore.

'Are you all right?'

'Fine, why?'

'You just seem off to me.'

'Oh. Are you?'

'Me? Very well. Happier than I've ever been.'

Hermione's eyes never left her reading. 'I'm glad.'

'You aren't. About the baby.'

'No.'

'Is it the pain, love?'

'Pain?'

'Do you fear it?'

'No.' She didn't, either. But nor was she filled with the excitement she had always assumed would be part of the experience. It made her feel guilty and tired and sad. At least her parents were happy, if not over the moon like the Malfoys seemed to be.

Draco was inclined to probe the matter further, but the look on her face dissuaded him. Not because it was sad, but because it tried so hard not to be. It was gallant, in a way; gallant in a way that Draco would have been hard pressed to define, but had he been pushed, he would have said because it denied hopelessness.

And so instead of digging about, Draco smiled at her and called for some tea for them. 'Tell me what we're looking for again?'

'Anything that could explain the pages ripped from Harry's books. Whatever happened has been erased from history. It must have been something terrible.'

Draco found himself a little glad he'd had to learn all those stupid runes. Hermione helped him when he needed, but she'd taught him well, and he found himself able to work out bits and pieces for himself.

Narcissa stuck her head in after about two hours. 'Hello, loves.'

'Hello, Mother.'

She came and sat next to them, looking solemn. 'Hermione, darling, you know how happy we are that you're expecting, don't you?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Mother.'

'We've some friends that would like very much to share your joy. Is there way we could ask you to consent to a brief visit of some kind? None of our friends have met Draco's wife, and usually it's the done thing.'

Hermione inhaled. 'Are they going to have a problem with the fact I'm a muggleborn?'

Narcissa squared her delicate shoulders. 'Not if they wish to be invited anywhere ever again.'

Draco was nodding. 'Darling, we wouldn't invite people who can't be nice.'

'And it will only be a luncheon, probably at the Manor, as Wales is a bit far for those with no carriages. Will day after tomorrow suit?'

Both young people nodded. Narcissa rose and pecked Hermione's cheek. 'I appreciate it, love, truly.'

As soon as she'd left, Draco turned to his wife and smiled brightly. 'Thank you, precious.'

'It's only a few hours, anyway.'

'Quite. And all those old ladies will want to pinch your cheeks and give us money.'

'We could donate it to the War Orphan Fund. Or the Halfblood Association.'

Draco nodded, then cocked his head. 'Certainly could. You know Parkinson might be there.'

'Oh. Will that be uncomfortable for you?'

He snorted, Crookshanks like. 'Not a bit. But God help her if she starts anything with anyone else.'

The morning of the luncheon, they travelled to Malfoy Manor early. Lucius had declined to come, pleading a slight fluttering of his heart. Narcissa gave him a look but he stared blandly ahead, pretending not to see, until she'd laughed and conceded.

Crookshanks on his lap, he bid them all a fond farewell and quietly settled back. 'We've dodged a bludger, cat.'

Crookshanks rolled on his side, yawning. _A nap to celebrate, then, Man_?

Lucius gently hooked his fingers into the cat's soft undercoat, rubbing his chest. 'To hell with running you for Minister, cat. I've decided to make you our new Dark Lord. Your sigil can be a mouse on a field of canary feathers. Does that sound good to you?'

_You'll be my Minister of belly rubs and special treats, if this keeps up_.

The carriage touched ground in time enough for them to check everything a final time before they went upstairs to get dressed. Hermione had chosen something relatively plain, but, at Narcissa's urging, not too sober.

Draco's face lit up at seeing her. 'You look lovely.' He hugged her gently, not wanting to muss her. 'It means a great deal to Mother that you consented to this, you know.'

Hermione looked away. 'It's only a few hours.'

'I know. And if you can duel a dozen Death Eaters at once, you can do this.'

The first guests began to arrive, and the Malfoys greeted them. Narcissa had taken special care not to include anyone who would upset Hermione, or Draco, by spouting off political opinions that might be...insalubrious.

She had, however, been virtually obliged to invite Xanthippe Parkinson and her daughter. Pansy swept in, wearing a robe of fuchsia, face sugared with so much resentment that she looked like a honey bee, poison and sweet.

Olive Crabbe was there, and Antigone Goyle (Greg's sister in law, not mother, as the first Mrs. Goyle had run off with a Halfblood years before). A handful of others, including Blaise Zabini's mother and the Bulstrode ladies, resplendent in dove grey velvet.

Hermione hadn't been prepared for the wave of affection which engulfed her. She was, as Draco had suggested, pinched a half hundred times by the many older ladies who'd been friends of Narcissa's mother. The wives of Lucius' friends and acquaintances came to kiss her cheeks, and the girls her own age, mainly Slytherins, even came and shook her hand.

Most of them. Parkinson at least didn't attack a pregnant woman, which would've pushed her from pathetic to villainous without much effort. Instead, she attached herself to Draco and would. not. let. go.

Draco tolerated this for about ten minutes and then, deeply annoyed, managed to shunt her off to his mother. Hermione was busy speaking to Madam Dinglebolt, the widow of Herman, Dinglebolt the captain of wizarding industry, who was 109 years old and hard of hearing.

'You may call me Eudamia, dear child ' bellowed the old woman, giving Hermione a friendly poke, her old fashioned dragon's bone false teeth gleaming black in the light from the solarium.

Hermione smiled. 'Thank you, Eudamia.'

'Sorry?' And so went the conversation for some time. Pansy managed to corner Bulstrode and was regaling her stories of she and Draco's perfect relationship and how Granger had wrecked it with her slutty mudblood ways.

Draco had just asked for a cup of the cook's very good champagne punch, and took a large fortifying swallow before he went to join Hermione with the loquacious but fundamentally good tempered Eudamia Dinglebolt.

'Darling, how do you feel?'

'Fine, Draco. Did you know Madam Dinglebolt was Beater for Slytherin on the 1905 team?'

'Eh?'

'Beater, Madam? Most interesting!' Draco decided to take a bludger for his wife and let her talk to someone a bit less...loud. Hermione smiled and decided go and talk to Olive Crabbe, who looked quietly sad, having lost husband and son in the space of a year. She was quite alone, and Hermione's native compassion made her want to console the woman.

Hermione picked up a cup of the punch and set it front of Madam Crabbe. 'I LIKE- I mean, I like those shoes, Madam Crabbe. Where did you get them?'

The woman brightened a bit. 'We've an elf that is quite talented in leather work, Madam Malfoy. His name is Snippy.'

'That must be useful. Please, call me Hermione.'

'And you must call me Olive. Oh, yes, most useful.' And they chatted on, the woman brightening at the attention and Hermione feeling quietly gratified that she could help.

Madam Dinglebolt finally toddled off to speak to an even older friend of hers, freeing Draco. He started toward Mother to ask her something, then heard Pansy's strident voice, and stopped to listen.

'...Not surprised she fell pregnant so quickly. Everyone knows muggles are like clever animals, look at who raised her.'

Bulstrode looked quietly appalled. 'Really, Pansy, he didn't start this. And nor did she. They're our hosts, for God's sakes.'

'All I'm saying is it ought to have been me. She's hardly qualified to run the house, or be a social hostess. Look who she's spent the party talking to.'

Milicent had finally had enough. She set down her cup and walked away without another word. 'Draco? I've a headache. Thank you for having me.'

'Thank you for coming, Millicent.' Bulstrode thanked Narcissa and Hermione, had a quick, hissed conversation with her mother, and Floo'd home to Limerick as rapidly as possible.

Hermione was still talking with Madam Crabbe. The woman was actually smiling, and Draco felt a pride in his wife which made him flush with pleasure.

Rather than dwelling on it, he approached Parkinson, prepared to put a grindylow in her ear that would make her head wobble. 'Pansy.'

'Draco, darling!'

'I heard what you said.'

'Oh?' Pansy cocked her head and smiled, hoping he meant he agreed with her. His face never changed.

'I want you to leave. You insulted my wife.'

Pansy's eyes filled. 'Draco, you can't be happy like this. Look at her.' She pointed to Hermione, who'd introduced Eudamia and Olive. The ladies were speaking softly to one another, and she rose, resplendent in her robes, and approached Narcissa to ask her something.

'I most certainly could. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Pansy, but you mustn't impugn my wife. Hermione has done flawlessly.'

Pansy sniffed. 'You're only being gallant, Draco.'

'Certainly not. But Pansy, get it through your head that we're done, won't you?'

As Draco was speaking to Pansy, Hermione approached Narcissa. 'Mother, Madam Crabbe and Madam Dinglebolt have both asked to call on us. Is that all right?'

Narcissa's face lit up. 'Angel, what a good girl you are! Tell them certainly they may.'

The rest of the party was quite as dull as the first part. Draco had some low, intense words with Pansy and was quiet the rest of the day.

Madam Dinglebolt came to call the next day, as Hermione was deciding the menu with some elves. 'Hello, dear child. The view as one flies in is superb.'

As it happened, Hermione had left her copy of Virgillia Malfoy on the table in her sittign room. It had been there for some time, without thought, unmoved by the elves in case Madam should need it.

The elderly woman sat on the divan and picked it up. 'Letters to Wives? Always thought it was dreadful pap, myself.'

Hermione raised her voice. 'So do I, actually.'

'Oh? I see you've annoted it. To what cause?'

Hermione explained, with some trepidation, about her refutatation. Madam Dinglebolt nodded solemnly.

'I thought you seemed a clever girl. May I borrow it?'

Hermione asked an elf to bring it forth, and it was. It went home with Eudamia Dinglebolt, who read it in a single night.

She passed it onto Olive Crabbe, who gave it to Louisa Bulstrode, who gave it to her good friend Bilquis Rocheford, who gave it to her brother, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco was a bit startled when Hermione received a letter from the Minister.

'Darling? Everything all right?'

'Fine, Draco. Kingsley's been wanting to review some of the laws about women, and he wants me to speak to the Wizengamot, is all.'

Draco blinked multiple times. 'Is that all? Well, then...' He grinned suddenly and hugged her, full of love and pride. 'I think it's time we see about publishing this thing, don't you?'

Hermione hugged him back. 'But what about the mystery?'

'The dead will wait, love.' And Lucius and Narcissa, who had their doubts, feigned delight to please the children.

'Lucius' asked Narcissa that night in bed 'you don't think it will ruin her health?'

'Not before she ruins mine, darling.' Crookshanks snorted pointedly from the place on Lucius' pillow.

'Oh, pooh' said Narcissa, and showed him how healthy he was, after all.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black**

**This chapter is sort of an unofficial two parter. I skimmed the legal type stuff this time so I can do a better job on it next chapter (library doesn't open until tomorrow, and there's stuff I need there).**

** I'd like to take a moment to remember some of the women who, like the ones in this chapter, went before-Fanny Wright, Victoria Clafin Woodhull, Annie Besant, Lucretia Mott, Christabel Pankhurst and hundreds of others. **

**Thank you, ladies.**

Clustered about the table in the kitchen, the ten elves were troubled, troubled indeed, by all this strange new movement amongst their family. The cat, too, had opted to attend, and was lazily stretched across the cooling hearthstones, tail flicking back and forth like a fly swatter.

'Is not good for baby!' The elves muttered their agreement. They'd quite decided how the whole confinement, (and next twelve years, as it happened) would go, and this was assuredly not in the plan.

'Madam is getting sick!' Another murmur. Crookshanks stood, snorting pointedly-his Girl had never had a sick day in her life, and from what he could tell, the little human kit was fine as well.

Lirry turned and glared at the nasty creature. 'Is being different now! Is being delicate!'

Crookshanks tossed his head. _Bah. I taught her everything she knows. _He had perfect faith that his Girl could do anything-except stalking mice, she'd never shown as much facility as he might have liked in that regard.

The elves resolved to ignore the nasty creature and concentrate on more important things, like manipulating Madam into staying home, wrapped in furs and cashmere throws, having her legs massaged to keep them from swelling.

As it happened, Draco and Hermione were having a bit of a meeting of their own. Burrowed under their furs, they laid naked, Draco's hand on Hermione's belly, talking to it as he often did.

'And so, the widow got to make her pie, and the gnome learnt his lesson about taking things that didn't belong to him.' His hand made a lazy circle just above her navel, careful not to tickle.

Hermione snuggled into the robes, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. 'My goodness, I could drift off right now.'

Draco kept rubbing. 'Then do, angel. I don't mind.'

'I mind. It's still early. I'd like to go over my notes about -'

Draco smiled. 'My darling, we both know you'll be splendid. Why not take a rest, hmm?'

Hermione shook her head. 'It's habit, more than anything.'

Draco stopped rubbing. 'Why don't you bring your things here? I'd like to tell the baby another story.'

Hermione slid into her wrapper and stood, gasping a bit at the cold stones on her feet. In a flash, Leesy appeared, bowing, and handed Hermione her slippers. 'Madam is catching chill!'

'I'm fine, Leesy.'

Leesy and Draco looked equally put out. 'Madam is having hot milk now, going to bed?'

'Darling, all the heat is escaping the robes.' Draco tried to look as tragic as possible-he wanted nothing more than to lie there with his wife, telling their child a story. He groaned, slipped on his own nightshirt and followed Hermione into the other room.

Hermione sat down at her escritoire and pulled out her notes, settling in for a good read. Draco huddled on the chaise lounge, shivering pointedly for a moment.

'Draco, are you all right?'

'Fine, fine.'

She set down her pen and looked at him, concern written all over her face. 'Shall I call for some hot milk?'

'Shan't help.' He settled back, and Hermione snorted before she went to her work, muttering reminders to herself.

'May I ask what that is?'

'My notes for the committee.'

'Yes, I know. But I mean...'

Hermione paused. 'It's a list of all the relevant laws, and potential precedent for changing them. And some personal observations.'

Draco felt his stomach cramp. The ever present fear that something might happen to separate the two of them had been nibbling at him for days, and he swallowed a bit harder than he otherwise might and said, as calmly as he could 'Oh?'

Hermione nodded, feeling his eyes on her. 'Yes.'

'About what?'

'About all the reasons these laws are barbaric. I understand you don't see them that way, but...'

'But?'

Hermione inhaled. 'At the end of the day, it's about choice, Draco. We're all citizens of Wizarding Britain, and we deserve the same rights. All of us, all the time.'

Draco considered. 'You've said, love.' He wasn't one hundred percent sure how he felt about all this. He'd gladly give Hermione practically anything she might ask him for and she knew it.

But this had really struck a chord, and it made her sincerely happy. And Madam Dinglebolt was a prominent woman, as was Bilquis Rochefort. At least that cut down on the risk of their being outright harassed somehow.

'Do you remember when I brought you home, love?'

Hermione's stomach tightened reflexively. 'Yes.'

'And we...disagreed? Is it because of that?'

Hermione wondered that sometimes herself. 'That's a complicated question, Draco. In part it's just because I think it's wrong.'

'But some of it is the other, isn't it?'

'Yes.' She went back to her notes, and Draco wisely gave her space. Hermione abruptly set down the pile of books she'd been looking through and said 'May I ask you something?'

'Of course, love.'

'Why did you do that? When we disagreed.'

Draco spread his hands expansively. 'Darling, you are the first muggle born person with whom I have ever had prolonged contact. I thought muggles do it like we do, and that you were being stubborn.'

'You were trying to break me?' Hermione's voice was carefully, studiedly neutral. Draco cringed internally-he hated it that Hermione wouldn't express feelings to make herself feel better.

'Not as such, no. It took a long while for me to understand what you'd lost, I suppose, because it was all relatively painless for me.'

Hermione nodded. 'It would have been easier to...' What? Never have been locked in room? Married Ron? Been happy and normal?

'To what?'

She shook her head. 'I don't quite know myself.'

'We were all very impressed with how you coped, you know.' Draco meant it, too. In some ways, it might have easier had she dealt with things with a bit less dignity- it had been disconcerting to have her lie beside him, seething silently for days.

'Thank you.'

He stood and went to stand behind her, wanting to touch her. 'Precious, I-would it be all right if I touched you? If you aren't in the mood...' He didn't want her upset, after all, for her moment.

Hermione half turned in her chair. 'Thank you for asking, Draco. I'd like to wait a bit, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Is it because you're upset?'

'Yes. This is not a good subject.'

'I know, but it seems wrong to keep avoiding it, especially since we've a baby coming.'

Hermione nodded. 'I agree. Just give me a few moments. I used to resent very much-I'm not a tactile person, and it used to make her very upset when we'd disagree and you'd touch me after.'

'Truly?' Draco's brow wrinkled. Hermione nodded, eyes on her papers. She pulled her wrapper tighter and finally called for a maid and asked that a brazier be brought so they could warm themselves.

'Yes. It felt intrusive.'

'I never thought of it that way. I didn't mean-intrusive? Don't you like cuddling?' It was unthinkable to him that someone shouldn't. He hadn't meant to upset her by touching her. Draco had been raised to see affectionate touch as an unqualified good, and his brain was spinning.

'Sometimes I do. But it made me very confused when you'd do something, well, cruel, and then want me to nap with you or let you play with my hair five minutes later.'

'I wanted to make sure you understood I still cared. Just because someone's behaviour isn't perfect doesn't mean we don't still l-you know.'

'It was too much, Draco, was all.'

He nodded. He found that, broken down into manageable pieces, the past could be calmly discussed. But it was hard, and if it was hurting Draco, he suddenly realised that Hermione must hurt more by a factor of many dozens.

'Are you all right?'

'Of course I am.' His face was waxen, and Hermione stood from her labours and shocked him with a quick hug.

He hugged her back, and then slid his arm under her legs as the other locked about her waist. Bridal style, he carried her back to their warm nest of furs and swans' down, and applied some of his new found wisdom in helping them both forget their pain a while.

The elves pondered on how to make their plan work. The next day dawned fair and cold, and Madam was up early, bustling about before it was even light. Leesy came and did her hair, prepared for the daily fight about the underclothes, and decided a direct approach would behove them all.

Leesy got Madam into her drawers and chemise just fine, along with a pair of warm stockings, and then held up the flannel band. 'Madam?'

'No, Leesy.'

'But Madam...'

'I mean it, Leesy.'

Leesy's eyes filled with tears. 'But Madam is getting a chill if she is not wearing band.'

'Not anymore than before I was pregnant.'

'But baby is getting cold! Could be bad draft. Or a miasma.'

Hermione wasn't convinced a miasma was a real thing, let alone that the baby would catch one. She stood her ground, mainly on principle, and also because the band was itchy.

'Leesy, if I get cold, I promise I'll tell you.'

'Leesy could be getting Mistress Narcissa. Or Mistress Annemarie, and see what they is saying about Madam getting chilled in the bones.'

Hermione bit down on a laugh. This was new. 'Leesy, did you just threaten to tell my mother?'

'Yes, Madam. Good old Leesy! Faithful Leesy!' The elf looked to be gearing up for a good wail, and Hermione, as she always did, threw up her hands. 'Really, there's no need for this.'

'Is need! Madam is needing to be well!'

Hermione sat down and lightly pressed her belly. She was little more than a month pregnant, and so it was hardly as though she looked or felt much different. But she knew she ought to feel excited, and didn't.

'I'm sorry' she thought to her baby. 'I know I should want you to come.' And it wasn't as though she bore it any antipathy, exactly. But she couldn't help but remember the last six months, and the prospect of more change made her worse and not better.

Leesy stopped at once. 'Madam?'

'I'm fine, Leesy.'

'Not fine. Tell Leesy?'

Hermione shook her head and sniffled. 'Another time. For now, let's concentrate on getting to the courtyard by nine, all right?'

Leesy and Hermione compromised with a heavier petticoat, and the elf dressed her mistress in a pair of dark grey robes and a goblin chain. Madam looked beautiful, thought Leesy, who beamed as she took Hermione's cloak and small reticule. The plan had thus far been a failure, but Leesy would reconvene the elves and they'd have a second go.

Narcissa and Draco were waiting for them. Draco looked nervous, even as he pecked her cheek. 'Are you quite well, love?'

'Yes, fine. You?'

'All right. Up we get, now. Mother, do you need a hand?'

Narcissa had come mainly to support her daughter in law, and also because she was worried the Weasley boy would do something rash. She had faith in Hermione's sense-if nothing else, she wouldn't want the boy to come because Draco might maul him-but teenager males aren't usually known for common sense.

She also had mixed feelings about the baby. She was overjoyed on a purely personal level, but it worried her, too. Hermione seemed to be ignoring it as much as possible, and that couldn't be healthy. But then, it seemed to her that the children functioned by avoiding certain topics, so perhaps it made a degree of sense.

The other ladies met them there. This wing of the Ministry had been carefully cleared to avoid any veela unpleasantness, and so half a dozen of Britain's most influential ladies waited in well dressed quiet while the special committee convened by Shacklebolt took their sweet time in getting ready.

'Ladies, this way, please.' They followed Hermione, which was a pleasant surprise for her. It felt good, to be in charge of something again. Draco settled in the back of the chamber, eyes fixed on his wife, and hoped the presence of an active veela might dissuade any potential naysayers. If his darling thought the laws were archaic, then the Ministry had best pay attention, was all.

Hermione and the other ladies settled themselves behind the table which had been set out for them. Kingsley smiled at his older sister, who'd always been determined, and she smiled back. Bilquis loved her brother very much, and it meant the world to her that he'd taken her seriously in this.

'Well, Madam Malfoy-Madam Draco Malfoy, I mean-we've read work with great interest. Would you care to explain your position to the assembled?'

Hermione did.'...and because women are human beings, and we feel it's time the government took notice of that by extending equal protection to us under the law.'

Shaklebolt was nodding. 'Well, Madam Malfoy, you've clearly prepared very thoroughly for this.'

It was a little anti-climatic, truth be told. The committee mainly nodded and whispered amongst themselves, which was nerve wracking to say the least.

'Motion to bring this issue before the Wizengamot in open session?'

The result was seven ayes, two nays and one abstain (the Minister, obviously, sat this one out).

'Done. Let it be known that Madam Draco Malfoy, Madam Lucius Malfoy, Madam Hermann Dinglebolt, Madam Steerforth Rochfort, Madam Vincent Crabbe Sr. and Madam Alphonsus Bulstrode will appear to plead their case on the floor during the next administration session, pending open debates and a vote during the final session. Adjourned.'

Hermione almost couldn't believe her good luck. But, seeing as Fate as parcelled her so much, she decided to try a little further. 'Your Wisdom?'

'Yes, Madam Malfoy?'

'I'd appreciate being called by my own name in the official record. I can't speak for my companions, but please list me as 'Hermione'.

The scribe's quill stopped. 'Most unusual, your Wisdom.'

'Your Wisdom, we've just spent half an hour discussing the personhood of witches. Isn't it a bit ironic my remarks on record under my husband's name?'

Eudamia Dinglebolt nodded. 'Quite so' she said at almost normal volume, having let the elf use the hearing on her for a change. 'My Hermann's been dead for almost twenty years. He didn't have a thing to do with it, rest his bones.'

'Nor did my Steerforth' said Bilquis, whose current husband was even older than Eudamia and content to let her do as she liked, so long as he could hold her hand sometimes.

Madam Bulstrode looked thoughtful. 'My Alphie's all in favour, your Wisdom. Couldn't you put my name down and his in parenthesis?'

Narcissa squeezed Hermione's shoulder. 'And mine as well, please. Lucius is most supportive of Hermione and I both.'

The scribe looked helplessly at the Minister and the assembled members of the Wizengamot. 'Please, gentlemen?'

Draco stood in the back. 'I, for one, insist. My wife wrote the refutation, and she ought to get credit for what's in it.' He trusted the other gentlemen would back him in this, and if they didn't, he'd have some words with them, to say the least.

The scribe gave in with a disgusted grunt. 'All right, all right.' He did as he'd been asked, and the ladies rose gracefully, thanked the assembled, and left in a group, accompanied by Draco.

'You must all come to celebrate at my house' suggested Eudamia, rather louder than necessary, given that her charm was wearing off. 'My elf makes a fine galantine of calf's tongue.'

Hermione flicked her eyes to the rest of her party, both of whom nodded. 'We'd be delighted, Eudamia.'

Olive Crabbe, who hadn't been invited anywhere in years, looked as though she was going to cry, but only for a moment. 'That sounds wonderful.'

The others eagerly accepted, and Draco, who felt a hen party coming on, nevertheless feigned pleasure for his wife's sake. If nothing else, Madam Dinglebolt might have some interesting books or pictures or something.

All of them planned to meet at Dinglebolt House in Leeds. As the Malfoy carriage took off, Hermione nestled under the lap robes, almost too happy to talk. Draco leant over. 'Satisfied, love?'

In answer, she slid a hand beneath the robes and squeezed his. Draco beamed and squeezed back.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**Plans have changed slightly-the second part of the two parter will be further on. Sorry for the confusion.**

**Also, keep in mind as you read that different characters experience different events differently. Narcissa's perceptions will differ wildly from Hermione's, say.**

**The inspiration for many of the stories discussed in this chapter is the book 'The Model Wife' by Rhona Randall. Many of them were gleaned from letters that real women wrote circa 1865 to Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine. I think it must have taken enormous courage for them to do so, even pseudo-anonymously. Many of them had loving marriages to good and decent men-some of them did not, and talked about it with candour.**

** Dedicated with gratitude and sadness to them.**

It is both a law of nature and a cliché, in the dramatic sense, to say that for every action, there is one which is both equal and opposite, but the hackneyed nature of the thing doesn't discount it's veracity.

Especially when the thing at question is something as inflammatory as 'A Refutation to Letters to Wives', by Hermione Granger Malfoy. It was published a few days after the hearing, just as Hermione was experiencing her first serious symptom of pregnancy, bent over the seat of ease, Leesy holding her hair and shirring soothingly.

'Darling, you've made the front page! Darling, I-Hermione? What's the matter, precious?'

Hermione rinsed her mouth, took a phial of the breath sweetening potion most wizards use daily, and stepped out, smiling a bit. 'I'm alright, Draco. Just morning sickness.'

After having the concept explained to him, Draco showed her the paper. 'War hero Granger speaks out against Letters to Wives.' The story was about what one would expect from the Prophet. Hermione read it, nodded, and, apparently unconcerned, mentioned that her parents were due to visit that night.

That was only the beginning. Over the next few days, letters poured in, some of them denouncing Hermione as, at best, having been damaged by her war experiences, and the worst calling for all the Malfoys to be driven from Britain like plague rats.

And then the letters began to come to Cardiff, via the publisher. The elves checked them and disposed of any that had been hexed or coated in something poisonous; but that wasn't many, and it left the ones that were merely hateful.

Draco wanted terribly to assert his rights and open them all for her first, to only give her the ones that were supportive and kind and gentle; Hermione pre-empted the inevitable disagreement by asking if they could do it as a family.

So the four Malfoys, as many elves as could be fitted into Hermione's sitting room, and Crookshanks (as moral support) were slitting the letters with pen knives and sometimes reading excerpts from them if they were funny or touching or filled with bile.

The elves were not pleased with this activity by any means. They were somewhat mollified by the fact that Madam was stretched on her chaise longue and suitably rugged with furs and bolsters, but all this stress musn't be good for the baby. Their inclusion also helped, but most of them looked sour as they slit and sorted the letters into piles.

'...a disgrace to all decent ladies, a spider, a leech, and a monstrous, unnatural and depraved-' Hermione set down the letter in the pile to be burnt and selected the next one.

'I do wish' said Lucius, flinging another in a similar vein aside 'that these imbeciles could be bothered to have something more creative to say. Moral outrage is really very tiresome if it isn't one's own, I find.'

Draco set one aside to be read by the ladies. 'Being denounced is practically the family pastime, Father.'

'Draco Lucius!'

'Well, it is. And I speak as one who has been denounced regularly.'

Lucius tried to look stern and failed. 'I rather miss the days when I could turn you -over my knee when you were flippant, Draco.'

Draco blushed slightly. 'I meant no disrespect, Father.'

'Of course you didn't, and I'm the first one to admit you're right. But more generally, you were easier to convince in those days, weren't you?'

'Hmph. I was a very good boy, as I remember it.'

'Narcissa, darling, do back me up, won't you?'

Narcissa turned to her daughter in law and smiled. 'I don't hear any of this, and nor does Hermione, isn't that right, dearest?'

Draco looked outraged. 'Hermione, you believe me, don't you?'

'Mother, did you hear something?'

Both men hmmph'd pointedly and went back to sorting. 'Narcissa, do you remember Draco's third birthday?'

'I do. Wasn't he adorable in his little smock and short trousers, just like a big boy?'

'And he'd just started wearing pants, do you recall? He told everyone he wasn't in nappies anymore.'

Hermione darted her eyes at her husband, who was squirming a bit, trying to ignore what was going on. She read a few more letters, saved the most interesting, and then stood, legs tingling. 'Is anyone else ready for a break?'

The group stood as well. 'What did you have in mind, love?'

Hermione checked her pocket watch. 'It's almost time for dinner, so why don't we walk down a bit early?' Ten minutes later the elves were ladling oyster soup into bowels and pouring pumpkin juice as the family sat down, relaxing, the fire playing cosily on all of them.

'Well, darling, what do you think?'

'About the letters?'

'Amongst others, yes. Generally.'

'It's all very exciting, I suppose. I just hope I'm making more lives better than I am worse.'

Draco tasted his soup and added a little pepper, mentally reminding himself to ask Hermione to speak to the cook. 'Was it like this when you published your book, Father?'

'You've written a book, Father?'

'Quite. It was just before Draco was born. And it wasn't like this, Draco, no. But my subject was much less controversial.'

'What was it?'

'Poisons. Various blends, methods of delivery. Commentary on Locusta of Gaul's text on tincture of bloodroot. That sort of thing.' Hermione was staring at Lucius with something like open shock, food forgot about.

'Something the matter, love?'

'You wrote about that and it got less attention than my treatise?'

Lucius laughed softly. 'Darling, there have always been books like that. Mainly so people could be prepared if they should think themselves likely to be poisoned. And I did use a pen name, after all.' He smiled and ate an oyster from his soup; much though he liked Hermione, it was rather nice to give the usually unflappable girl a shock once in a while.

Hermione was shaking her head when the second course came in. Just when she thought she understood the Malfoys, there was another layer to them, like onions.

After the meal, everyone withdrew to their own bedroom for the usual nap. Hermione was surprised that she felt tired, and settled back, eyes closed, and was sleeping in moments. Strangely, Draco was not tired in the least. So he did what seemed to him the natural course of things-he sought out his mother, who rarely slept during the day.

Narcissa knew her son, and she knew he sometimes thought deeply about things. She was not surprised to receive him in her sitting room, as Lucius and Hermione's gingery tom dozed on the bed, snoring gently.

'Mother' said Draco as they sat down 'may I ask you something?'

'Of course, love. Is everything all right?'

He nodded. 'Are all women unhappy?'

Narcissa inhaled slowly. 'Well...you must understand, Draco, that Father and I have a very good marriage in most part because we each work hard at it. Some people do not, and that can create misery very quickly, I would say.'

Draco processed this. 'It doesn't seem...you mean talking things over?'

'Yes, partly. But we also strive to be respectful and considerate of one another. And to make time to enjoy one another-sharing interests, talking about things, like that.'

Draco was nodding. 'Yes, Mother. It seems unlikely to me that the absence of those things alone could cause this sort of reaction.'

'Of course not. You and Father are honourable, Draco, and would not press your advantage cruelly to Hermione or I. Not all men are as you are. Some of them are violent or drunken or unkind.'

'I haven't always been...sometimes I regret...I think perhaps were I Hermione, I would not have dealt so calmly with all this.'

'No?'

'I would hate me. But even as I say that, I'd do it again. Ironic, wouldn't you agree?'

Narcissa sighed. 'Yours is a special case, I'd say. And have you ever told Hermione that, Draco?'

Draco looked at his hands. 'She would nod and say "Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your honesty" or something earnest and caring and I'd feel an ass. And I'd not want her to think that I regret that we're married. I don't.'

'Of course not.' Narcissa took his hand and held it a moment in hers. She wished she could help him through this and couldn't; the children would guide one another or be lost.

'It will get harder rather than easier, as the open session approaches.'

'Yes, my darling, it will. But as brave as you both are, I've faith you'll be fine.'

Draco licked his lips. 'Sometimes I feel...perhaps she's doing for other people what she can't for herself. Freeing them. She can't be, but she can help others.'

Narcissa had had that very thought. Hermione showed the world an incredibly brave face, but sometimes Narcissa wondered if the mask ever slipped. Didn't the child ever want to give up? Did she mean to continue indomitably for years? A lifetime?

'As I've said, Draco, it's different.'

'Is it?' Draco stood and gently pecked Mother's smoothly floral cheek, excused himself. The cat padded after and Draco, well trained, stooped to pick him up and carry him back to their rooms.

'Draco?'

'Shhh, back to sleep.'

Hermione shook herself the rest of the way awake and sat, grinning when she saw Crookshanks. 'Crookshanks!'

The cat permitted himself to be deposited on the bed, and then moved to his Girl's side, where he could guard her belly. He had a vague idea humans took the long way in these things, but he very much wanted to be near her in case she needed him at some point before she queaned.

Draco made a face at the furry menace and settled himself on the other side. 'How's the belly, love?'

'All right.' She seemed disinclined to say anything else, and Draco decided to proceed slowly. 'How are you doing with all the letters and things? Not too worked up?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I knew my views might upset people, Draco.'

'Like I've said, I've been denounced loads of times, so if it bothers you, we could talk about it.'

'Thanks. How about you?'

'If you're happy, I'm happy. Speaking of which, you did a very kind for Madam Crabbe by introducing her to all those others.'

'She's a nice woman.'

'Yes, she is. And I even rather enjoyed dinner.' This, for Draco, was something of a sacrifice, as he wouldn't want it to get round he'd enjoyed some hen party. But Hermione, he'd noticed, had a talent for drawing people out, and so the dinner had been pleasant to see, all those women-usually forgot about-laughing and chatting.

Madam Dinglebolt had even put him at the head of the table and asked him to carve. Her black dragon's bone teeth gleaming, she'd allowed the elf to renew her hearing charm and regaled them all with stories of her days as one of the Harpies.

_**'Really, Madam? You knew Harmonia Singer?'**_

_**'I did. Quite the greatest Seeker I have ever known, and I have attended precisely one hundred world cup competitions.' Eudamia's face changed subtly, as an old pain sprung to life again. Hermione would have recognise the feeling at once, the resurrected sense of loss and sadness that was never far enough away for comfort.**_

_**'Of course, after she lost her eye, she couldn't play anymore. And the spell to fix that sort of thing was still twenty or so years in the future.'**_

_**The other women were nodding, faces still. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but it was Louisa Bulstrode who answered. 'Her husband drank. One day he hit her in the face with a bottle and half blinded her.'**_

_**No one was eating or drinking now. Hermione saw something else on the faces of the women-an understanding that things would be discussed in the course of this enterprise which might be painful and ugly.**_

_**Olive Crabbe sipped some wine. 'My Vince was always good to me, but my sister-she married that fellow Mudsley, the one with the side whiskers?- she's had to hide her jewellery from him. Otherwise he pawns it to buy whiskey.'**_

_**Other stories followed. Women mutilated, women starved or imprisoned in their own homes. The ladies wove a tapestry of suffering at the table, each of them joining their voices to the others in shared anger and grief.**_

_**'D'you remember Lotty Rowle, Bilquis? She was in my brother's year. Her husband left her for another woman and gave the mistress the children. Poor Lotty was absolutely going mad, of course, the idea of some Knockturn Alley slut raising her babies.' Louisa sipped her own wine and shook her head.**_

_**'Hermione, does this happen to muggle women too?'**_

_**'Sometimes. But our laws are different.' Hermione summarised, and when she was done a silence had fallen. 'My God' said Eudamia, who was a Halfblood and thought the idea of blood purity the biggest load of hippogriff's wallow imaginable 'and here we were raised to see them as animals.'**_

_**Bilquis Rochefort nodded sadly. 'Ironic. But we're trying to make it better, aren't we?'**_

_**Hermione nodded, face smooth and unafraid. 'Yes. We're-most of us-lucky enough to have resources to escape if we needed. But there are so many women who can't, who are stuck.'**_

_**'We're stuck, as much as them.'**_

_**Narcissa spoke up. 'Yes and no, Olive. Legally we are, but all of us have-had-people to intercede, to stop a scandal if nothing else. And there's a degree of social pressure, not to mention dowries to be withdrawn if it got bad enough. What have poorer women got?'**_

_**Draco was silent this whole time, absorbing. He hadn't ever thought of any of these things. He'd assumed that all men were like Father, or like he tried to be, lovingly protecting women from bad things, giving guidance.**_

_**Hermione was silent, too. He caught her eye and they both shared a thought: that no matter how much she changed for other women, she would never be free.**_

_**'What happened to Harmonia? Did she ever get her eye fixed?'**_

_**Eudamia's face worked. 'No, dear child. By the time it was available, she'd done away with herself.'**_

Hermione was nuzzling Crookshanks, burying her face in his soft ruff as he preened. The cat snorted and nuzzled back, utterly content to be with his Girl. He turned to Draco and miaowed an interrogative. _You there, why don't you get in? My flank shan't warm itself. _

Draco climbed in the bed and opened his arms. Hermione leant back, still cuddling the cat, and sighed, clearly thinking. 'Draco?'

'Love?'

'Those letters are hard to read. Not the angry ones, the sad ones.'

'They are. And all stories at Eudamia's.' He shook his head in disgust. Six months ago, he might have told Hermione this showed what a lucky girl she was, to be with someone who treated her nicely, rather than a sot like Mudsley or something even worse.

He didn't. Draco just snuggled closer and gently pressed his wife's belly. 'What story would the baby like today? Something light, I should hope.'

Hermione nodded. 'Do you understand now why I had to write it, Draco?'

'Yes.' He squeezed her convulsively and spelled the room warmer. The cat stood on his stubby legs and got closer to Hermione's side, anointing her belly. He wanted everyone to know that this kit was his. And he'd start it mousing the second its eyes had opened.

Hermione had spent the last few days immersed in other people's misery, and that wasn't even to count the mystery she was still intent on pursuing. She shut her eyes, mentally cataloguing the body of work ahead of her. It comforted her greatly sometimes, knowing that there was always more work to be done. Always another chapter to write, a shirt to mend, a baby to have, a meal to oversee. Thank God.

By the time Draco's rather sarcastic recitation of 'The Littlest Hippogriff' (this version, suspiciously, focused on a brave, resourceful and handsome wizard who defeated the "evil slashing hellbeast" with Slytherin cunning.)

'Draco, I suspect you've modified this somewhat.'

'I am _hurt_ you'd say so, _hurt_.'

_'_That's hardly a denial.'

'You look lovely today, my angel.'

Hermione snorted and stood up. Another sack of mail had come in. The elves were under orders to open and discard anything full of vitriol, and they had. Hermione's face lit up as she read.

'Draco, three ladies' clubs want me to come and address them. One of them is Augusta Longbottom's. This is so wonderful.'

Draco swallowed a tetchy remark. He had a feeling there was a good many more hen parties in his future. 'You've made quite a splash, love.'

'We. We all have, wouldn't you say?' Draco beamed, but before he could say anything about how good he felt, the cat belched to remind them that his sides would not toast themselves.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Bad news: My chronic health condition has worsened, and I've taken Spring semester off to try to get it under control.**

**Good news: I'll have more time to update **

**It seems like everyone's favourite character is Crookshanks. The real life Crookshanks is our cat Princess. She's a gorgeous ginger persian who was apparently abandoned by her people(she was quite scrawny and neglected when we got her). She showed up at our house one night and refused to leave. Now she lives in my parents' bedroom and has four adoring minions to do her bidding.**

** She'd like everyone to know that celebrity hasn't got to her head at all, but she wouldn't object to a house elf to torment in the slightest.**

The ladies were just as overjoyed to hear about the speaking engagments, no matter how hard Hermione strove to downplay them as 'just chatting with some ladies, is all', as they could have been.

They'd taken to meeting several times a week, and this was both a blessing and a curse. Hermione was glad to have friends again, no matter how much she missed Harry and Ron, and it was fun to be able to chat and laugh with someone besides the Malfoys.

On the other hand, the group had decided that the pregnancy was a joint venture. Hermione finally went to Draco in the library one night and said, a touch huffily 'I swear that elf is colluding against me.'

'Leesy, you mean?'

'She must have a hand in this.'

Draco grinned. 'What's happened?'

'Nothing specific, exactly. But I've been entertaining increasingly pointed questions about things and suspect Leesy's been whispering in ears.'

He stood and went to enfold her in his arms. 'Now, love, Leesy would never stoop to a thing like that. She'd just do it right in the open, like any good manipulator does.'

He patted her belly. 'Did you hear that, precious? You must listen very carefully to all of this.'

Hermione batted his hand away lightly. 'Draco, stop trying to influence the baby.'

'Would I ever?'

Her look said it all and he snorted helplessly. 'Can I help it if I want to give the baby the most appropriate start to life?'

'As long as you don't insist on reading the poison book aloud, we'll be fine.'

He pulled a long face. 'Why, I was going to suggest that, too. Ah well, we'll have to stick to fairy stories for the nonce.'

Hermione gently broke the hug. 'Draco? Would you mind dreadfully if I invited some new people the next time we meet? The ladies, I mean.'

He smoothed her hair. 'Depends. Women, I take it?'

'Augusta Longbottom, for one. Luna Lovegood, Antigone Goyle, perhaps Molly Weasley.'

Draco inhaled deeply. 'All right, but I want your solemn word you shan't try to contact...anyone. Promise?'

Hermione looked down. 'All right.'

Draco smelt that this wasn't a good topic for her. 'It's all right, Hermione.'

She inhaled. 'Of course it is. Will you be accompanying Mother and me?'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'More or less have to. I'd be going insane the whole time you were gone.'

'Oh.' Hermione had learnt not to mind Draco's presence most of the time, especially given how much better he'd been lately, but she still missed going place all on her own.

'And anyway, I've learnt ever so much about fashion and recipes.' This was delivered in such a tone of deadpan earnestness that Hermione stared at him for a second before she giggled.

'What have the ladies been doing, love?'

Hermione huffed (cutely, to Draco) and touched her belly. 'Asking all sorts of questions about why I'm not bundled up more warmly and what I've been eating, that sort of thing.'

'They care about you.'

'I know. Sometimes I feel like a womb, is all.'

Draco blinked. 'Oh. That's...unfortunate?'

'I mean it gets tiring to answer the same questions all the time, is all. Especially when it's not relevant to what's happening. I'm the same person I ever was.'

Draco nodded. 'Sorry, love. We could dye your hair purple or something to distract them, I suppose.'

'That would help my case about being taken seriously.' She rolled her eyes.

Draco chuckled. 'I think you'd look lovely.' He cooed softly and tugged her close again, willing her to want to, because he found the further along she got, the more he wanted it.

She hugged back for a moment and gently stepped away. 'I'm nervous about speaking, too, I guess. A bit.'

'Nervous about what?'

She sighed. 'It's silly, really. Just nerves.' More than that, she wouldn't say, so Draco had contented himself with trying to make her laugh as often as possible to distract her.

The ladies met at Dinglebolt House at five o'clock the next afternoon, two days before the first speaking engagement. Augusta was resplendent in her usual vulture hat and giant handbag, looking as brisk as ever, and the others as well.

Molly was relieved to see that Hermione didn't look as though she'd been tortured or something. The girl was pale-ish but otherwise seemed well enough, though without the glow Molly associated with pregnancy.

'How are you, love?'

'Well, Molly. You?'

'Oh, never better. You know Bill and Fleur are expecting?'

'How nice for them. When is Fleur due?'

''The end of June. And Harry's proposed to Ginny.'

Hermione smiled. 'That's wonderful.' She suddenly felt as though she'd been punched for no reason and pushed the feeling aside. 'She's welcomed to my dress, if she likes. She fancied it, when I tried it on for her.'

'Thank you, love. I'll let her know.'

The women gathered in a loose circle in the parlour, nearly a dozen in number. Narcissa was pleased to see that Hermione seemed to be doing well with all this, but she hadn't missed the look on the poor thing's face when she was talking to the Weasley woman. She'd ask about it, and Leesy as well.

'My dear' bellowed Eudamia, who'd stopped using the hearing charm, which she claimed gave her a headache 'I trust you are well. Not troubling yourself with those letters anymore, are you?'

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice. 'They've slowed, Eudamia. And those people have the same right to their opinions as we do.'

'Quite. And how is your health?'

'Fine. My stomach's settled down and otherwise I've never been better.'

The ladies discussed this for a few minutes, and then Augusta set down her goblet and said 'Well, what shall we accomplish today?'

Hermione smiled-she approved of Neville's Gran, even if she didn't exactly like her- and waited for the room to still. 'I thought we'd discuss what we'll say at the meeting on Friday. Does anyone have any ideas?'

Olive Crabbe raised a hand. 'Couldn't we ask them for their stories? They must have some.'

'That should be at the end, though' said Bilquis. 'How should we open the thing?'

'By talking about why we're doing this, I would say. Why is it important?'

Louisa snorted. 'Because it's bloody absurd, what we go through. Not _us_, maybe, but women in Wizarding Britain.'

Hermione nodded. 'And because we're angry. If we're citizens, let us be citizens. No one should live in fear in their own homes, and definitely not with legal sanction.' The ladies nodded. 'And' said Molly 'it's not good for children, either, to grow up like that.'

'Excellent point.'

'What about the opposition? What will they say?'

Hermione inhaled. 'Mostly they seem-the letters writers, at any rate-to feel like we're mucking about with tradition. We're trying to change things that should be left alone, and things've always worked before.'

Eudamia gave an unladylike and Crookshanks-esque snort of disgust. 'Piffle. I remember the days when children routinely died of preventable disease. Someone mucking about with that produced cures to ailments that were killing people.'

'Not to mention, tradition get changed all the time. No one uses flying carpets anymore because they're dangerous. The sky hardly fell when they banned those.' Bilquis looked at Draco from the corner of her eye. Strange, to see him grown, when she remembered him at a scabby six, grubbing for newts with Blaise.

'Exactly. What else?'

Hermione considered. 'We've talked about the privilege issue.'

Olive, looking mortified, said, softly 'Well, isn't the fact we are...privileged, I mean...don't we have an obligation to speak up?'

'Well said, Olive. And if someone's husband is treating her badly, what are the odds he'd let her speak out about it?'

'What about the charges that society is built on this? Won't society collapse if we change the ways things are?'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'Some muggles used to harass people with differently coloured skin than themselves. Did stopping that make society crumble?' Her eyes darted to Bilquis, hoping she hadn't offended.

She hadn't. 'They still do, in some places, but that's beside the point. That's an apt analogy. And like Eudamia said, change can be for the good. Weren't some people very resistant to the idea of the Mumbleroot infusion to treat Hierophant's Chorea?'

Eudamia nodded. 'Certainly there was. Some people claimed it was the ancestors' judgement on the unrighteous. And medi-wizards thought it might raise the phlegmatic humour too much. We know now it balances phlegmatic and choleric, but one would have thought they wanted to give the patients burning coals to drink.'

Augusta was a forthright woman. But this next thing she took with tact and care that were foreign to her. 'Hermione, don't be supposed if someone brings up...not at the meeting, I'd say...the thing with your husband and yourself.'

'The veela thing, yes. That's neither here nor there, and I've every intention of telling them that.'

'How crass' said Narcissa, giving her son a look 'for someone to bring up a thing like that in the midst of a political debate.'

'But they will' said Draco with a sort of dull, dark certainty. 'They will.'

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, is all. Anything else?'

The ladies looked at one another. 'Not that I can think of.'

Eudamia stood, ancient, twiglike legs shaking a bit. 'Why don't you young people go and have a look at the photographs on the third floor? Flippy, walk them, love.' The elf was nearly as ancient as Eudamia and floated beside them with painful slowness. 'Flippy isn't meaning disrespect, but is so nice Mistress Hermione is having baby. So nice.' The elf grinned rhumily, eyes gummy and dimmed with age. She and Madam had been together for ninety three years, and wonderful they'd been, too, but if only Madam had had a baby!

Hermione let the old elf stroke her belly and she DisApparated with a crack. 'That will be Leesy some day.'

Draco studied the things on the walls. 'My God, all these pictures are amazing. I'm sorry, by the way.' And they were. A century of Wizarding history, playing out on the walls.

Hermione was so busy watching the pictures that she almost didn't notice he'd said anything. 'Eudamia's had an interesting-pardon?'

'Said I'm sorry. It'll come up, you know.'

'I know.'

'If I could make them not mention it, I would do.'

'I know.' Hermione stepped further down the gallery. 'Is that...?'

It was a wedding picture. A much younger Eudamia, all in cream, stood with a handsome man who must have been Hermann, and two others. Draco nodded and then looked closer at the other woman.

'My God. That's she. Harmonia Singer.'

'She was very beautiful, wasn't she?'

Draco thought Hermione to be the only beautiful woman on Earth (except Mother, in a totally different context) but he nodded to be agreeable. 'And talented. And very nice, they say.'

'It makes me so angry, what happened to her. If we can prevent even one more woman getting hurt like that, it's worth it.'

Draco hugged her. 'Shhh, don't get worked up, hmm? I might have find someone to maul if you do that.'

Hermione poked his ribs. 'That is _not_ funny.'

'No' he said, a bit sadly 'it's not.' He wanted to ask her a thousand different questions, but he couldn't at the moment. They walked a bit further on.

'Draco?'

'Hmm? Look, that man must be Goyle's grandpapa. His mother's maiden name was Rowle, and that bloke is Thorfinn to a life.' Draco had hated Thorfinn Rowle, and he rather hated the man's sister, who'd abandoned Greg. Mother might have made Draco mad on occasion, but he knew she'd never leave him if she could help it.

Hermione would never get used to Pureblood genealogy. She nodded politely and kept looking. There weren't just pictures; there were other things as well. Masks spangled with beads, tufts of feathers, silk flowers. A whole life on the wall, and all the people in the pictures, who'd been part of it.

'Hermione?'

'Yes?'

'It occurs to me that maybe some men don't like the idea of the laws because they don't know how it is. Mother was talking about that the other day. Do you think so?'

She inhaled. 'I think most people are good and decent, but feel threatened by change. And the ones that aren't won't want to loose their right to abuse people weaker than themselves.'

Draco nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, but I mean...when I said those things to you, that first day, I thought you were just being stubborn. I couldn't see your perspective. And then you said Mother told you not to bother me with minor issues, remember?'

Hermione paused before a picture. 'She didn't precisely say that, Draco. She said it more generally.'

'I know, but maybe Wizarding women are too good at that. Things won't get better if their men don't know how to help them, isn't that right?'

Hermione turned and looked at him, surprised. 'I've never thought about it like that. That could be part of it.' She still sounded sceptical, though, so Draco decided to be upfront.

'I wish I'd known. Because I would have been a bit less...demanding. Not that I regret...' and he took her hand a moment.

Hermione's eyes suddenly filled and she startled them both by pressing her head to his chest for a moment. 'Sometimes I don't think this will _ever_ get easier.'

Draco had no answer to that, so he hugged her and wished for a way to fix all this.

Over a very good dinner, the ladies discussed small and usual things. 'Hermione' said Olive Crabbe 'have you been wearing your woollens? Cold weather is very bad for the baby.'

Draco and Narcissa shared a look, and Draco bit his tongue to keep from smiling. This promised to be rich. Hermione finished chewing her bite of chicken and said, very cheerfully 'Most of them. Especially my flannel undergarments. Those old stone walls trap the damp.'

The women nodded an agreement, as having the walls charmed to do otherwise was very expensive. 'What about your band? Have you got a good one?'

Hermione's cheeks were pink. Nearly every woman at the table had been Slytherin, and they were poised like a pack of attractive and well groomed hounds, quivering with readiness, smelling weakness.

'Hermione, you don't mean to say you've not been wearing it?'

Bilquis turned to Narcissa. 'Cissy' she said, having known her since she was eleven 'this can't be true?'

'Hermione has been most accommodating in things.' There, exactly enough ambiguity that the ladies could draw their own conclusions. Even Molly looked displeased, and Hermione resolved to strangle-well, a good many people, starting with her smirking husband.

'I find it uncomfortable, and I think a few extra layers ought to do.'

Augusta set down her saucer. 'Nonsense, girl. You need to wear both, else the baby might have an imbalance of humours.'

The others ladies were nodding. 'And anyway, everyone knows that pregnancy makes one vulnerable to all sorts of miasmas and vapours.'

'Not to mention a thinness in the bones. Extra layers will prevent them from opening and spilling bad blood into your organs.' There was so much wrong with this, Hermione didn't know where to start. She ate a bit more of her custard and scrounged for a topic to replace this one.

'I've some I can send you that might be more comfortable.'

'I as well. Not mine, of course' said Eudamia, nibbling a petite four 'but my sister's, and her granddaughter's in Helsinki with that fellow she married.' Eudamia's face gave a clear picture of what she thought of this idea, and the elf appeared at that moment, it was a mercy, to say the least.

On the ride home, it was on the tip of Narcissa's tongue to ask Hermione about the conversation between she and the Weasley woman, but before she could find the sufficiently delicate phrasing this required, Hermione rested her head on Draco's shoulder, sighing.

'Everything all right, darling?'

'Just tired.' Hermione closed her eyes and Draco moved the lap robes to cover them both more thoroughly. Narcissa found she couldn't speak, not after she watched that; it was small, but these little gestures gave her hope for all their futures together as a happy family.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Nothing new to report here, except that it's freezing, and I'm deeply envious of those selkie robes Draco and Hermione are always snuggling into. **

Had Crookshanks been asked whose cat he was, he would have been quite flummoxed. Well, had a human asked him, he would have snorted and walked off, as cats can't talk.

Had another cat asked him, in the subtle way cats have, he would have considered a long while before answering, tail swishing thoughtfully. His Girl's, of course, but really, Crookshanks ran the whole family.

Who but Crookshanks had spent sleeps making the bed robes smell just right, rolling on them to make sure his scent was deep into the furs? Who watched the humans and elves to see that they were safe from some other cat? Who scrubbed his smell into their absurd, hairless little necks before they went out, so everyone who counted (other cats, mainly) would know what a tough, ruthless tom protected them?

As it was, he was sniffing his Girl's belly. He knew, at some level, that she wasn't a Girl anymore, but a Woman like the one married to the Man with the weak thump-thump sound in his chest. Crookshanks had decided that, since he'd had her for years, he could call her his Girl for as long as he liked.

She smelt healthy, at least, and so did the kit inside her. Crookshanks poked her belly with a paw, wondering when her sides would bulge, and felt no lumps or bumps yet.

He moved onto the Male, sniffing him all over. There was something strange about this one, no two ways about it. He smelt _feral_, but just slightly, not like the Wolf Human who'd always been nice to Crookshanks. He pondered this a moment, decided it was beneath him, and nestled against the Male's chest, purring. It was very late, almost time for the Big Light in the Sky to come back.

Crookshanks' Girl moved. He stood up and watched her. She was jerking and making strange sounds. None of them were 'clever Crookshanks' or 'dinner' or 'brush' so Crookshanks knew they weren't directed at him. Something in her voice made his fur crackle a little, and he nimbly jumped the sleeping Male and stood beside her pillow, nuzzling her to wake her up.

Now the Male was doing it. He rolled, eyes opening, and engulfed her in his foolish human arms, making mewling sounds of which Crookshanks quite approved. The Girl groaned once and then laid still. The Male smelt like Scared. Had a predator got in somehow? Crookshanks reluctantly left his humans in the bed and went to check, determined to sniff it out and drive it off.

Hermione's eyes flickered open. 'Draco?'

'Shhh. What happened, precious?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Just a nightmare, Draco. Sorry I woke you.'

Draco's first impulse was a deluge of affection to drown out the memories of whatever she'd seen. He forced himself to fight it. Instead, he shook his head and said 'Don't be, love. Do you want to talk about it?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. What time is it?'

Draco reached for his wand and spelled up the lights. 'Almost seven. Shall we try for another few hours of sleep, darling?'

Hermione shook her head again. 'I'm too nervous. Why don't you try?'

Draco kissed her neck lightly. 'I'd rather spend time with you. And no runes' he said before she suggested it, which made her smile.

'You don't know that's what I wanted to say.'

'Bollocks. You're predictable.' For some reason, that made Hermione laugh a little, and they spent a few minutes just relaxing together. 'What shall we do, then?'

'Mmm, how about a story? The baby's awake too.'

'How can you tell?'

'No Malfoy misses a chance to listen in on a conversation.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Honestly. Shall I tell one?' Draco nodded and Hermione launched into recitation of Sleeping Beauty that had Draco absolutely baffled.

'Why would they let fairies in to start with? Nasty creatures.'

'These aren't little fairies, Draco. This fairies are more like humans.'

'Then they're hags? Or perhaps vampires?'

'No, they're fairies.'

She got as far as the curse and he stopped her again. 'Well, that's a stupid curse. Some Dark witch this "fairy" is.'

'Draco, would you rather tell the story?'

'Not at all, love.' He laid back and listened to her voice, utterly relaxed, and enjoying the chance to press Hermione's buttons, savouring some gentle play now that tickle fights and carrying her round were right out. Hermione gave as good as she got, and finished in time for Crookshanks to come back in, having found nothing of note.

'And so they lived happily ever after, and the Prince never, never mocked the way the Princess told fairy stories. The end.'

'That story could use a bit of work, if you ask me. Perhaps a part where the Prince hexes those stupid fairies for being idiots.'

'Or a part where he accepts these stories were written for five year olds and stops being a pillock.'

'Hmph. Being a pillock is the family pastime.'

'I thought it was being denounced.'

'Dragon and the egg, my darling. What time do we need to be ready?'

'The meeting is at eleven, with a luncheon to follow.'

'And they know about the veela thing?'

Hermione nodded. 'No other men will be there, Draco. Except Father, if he comes.'

'Father will stay here, I'd think. It would be awkward for him to be there.' Draco himself didn't especially want to go, for something like that reason; he was afraid he'd meet someone he'd hurt during his year's tenure as his mad aunt's apprentice.

'Everything all right?'

'Yes, fine. What shall we do now?'

Hermione nibbled her lip. 'Draco? Do you dream about the War?'

Part of him was delighted she was opening up. Another part would have traded his wand arm for it to have been about anything but this. 'Yes, I do.'

' I dream about Greyback, sometimes. Living with him must have been truly terrible.'

Draco's eyes were remote. 'You've no idea.'

Hermione startled them both by giving him a hug. 'No, I don't, but I'm sorry it happened to you.'

Draco hugged her back. 'Was it Greyback tonight?'

'The other one. He made...inferences.'

If Draco hadn't thought the man dead, he would have hunted him down and hacked out his heart. As it was, he tensed, and Hermione went pale. 'I didn't mean to upset you.'

Draco forced himself to calm down. 'Of course you didn't. He didn't try to touch you?'

'He didn't have time.'

Hermione abruptly turned and drank some of the water from the cup she kept beside the bed. 'And it's all over now.'

'May I ask you something?'

She nodded, guardedly, and Draco touched her hand. 'What were you saying to Molly Weasley? I only ask because you looked upset.'

'I offered Ginny my wedding dress. The one I would've worn, I mean.'

Draco absorbed this quietly. 'Oh. That's really very generous of you, love.'

Hermione shrugged, unconsciously tipping her head up. 'One of us might as well get some use from it.' Then, quite surprising herself, a few tears ran down her cheeks and she dashed them away, almost angrily. 'Do you suppose I'm a hypocrite?'

He hadn't expected that, definitely. 'Sorry?'

'I feel that way, sometimes.'

'You mean because of what happened?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes. I understand why it has to be this way, but that doesn't make it easier.'

Draco inhaled deeply. 'I think it's very brave that you're trying to make other people's lives better when you yourself have no...no...' he didn't want to say hope. As he watched, more tears came and Hermione raised her hand to wipe them away, until he reached up and did it for her.

'Please don't cry.' Draco tried to smile and couldn't. In the light, her eyes seemed very large, liquid, and he realised she was hurting deeply.

'I'm sorry. I think it's just nerves, or something. I'm normally not this silly.'

On her other side, Crookshanks rose on his hind legs and snuffled gently at his Girl's cheek, rubbing her with his smell. Hermione reached for him and pulled him into her arms, hugging him like a teddy bear.

Draco's first instinct was to tug her (well, them) into his lap. Instead, he rested a hand on her back and said very firmly 'I don't think it's a bit silly. You've every right.' Every right to what, exactly? Draco was a good deal more comfortable with hypocrisy than Hermione, but even he wasn't going to go quite that far.

Crookshanks sighed deeply, aware that this problem was beyond his feline purview, and that it somehow related to their sudden move to this Place. He relaxed into her arms and purred loudly, trying to soothe her as much as possible. He looked expectantly at the Male.

_Your turn._

Draco decided he couldn't make thing worse, at this point, and so he did a surprising and rather unusual thing; he followed an impulse. 'It's unselfish. That's something I love about you.'

Hermione hugged the cat, startled. Crookshanks wriggled, feeling slightly squished, and then settled back against her, snorting approval of the Male. _Not bad. Not perfect, but good enough._

'And that you try so hard to make everyone else round you feel comfortable, even when you aren't. And that you're always nice to the elves. And that you let me cuddle you before we sleep. And that face you make when you're waking up. And that you make me laugh.'

'I...'

'I'm not sorry we're married. But I am sorry you aren't happy.' There. Draco had cast his die and now he'd have to wait for the inevitable conclusion, whatever it was.

Hermione was too startled to say anything. She reached for her wand and spelled her slippers over. Rising without a word, she went into the seat of ease and closed the door behind herself.

'A fine muck I've made of things.'

_You humans are good at that._

Draco blinked. 'Could almost swear...anyway, you orange fleabag, I'm a loss.'

_Flattery will get you nowhere. But a belly rub might persuade me to help you._

Draco gently dug his fingers into the cat's dense undercoat as he flopped down on his back, massaging. The cat purred and murmured softly.

Hermione had gone into the seat of ease to buy herself a little time. She'd washed her hands and face twice now, and she came out unsure of what to do. This simultaneously felt like a sea change and like nothing at all, as though something had happened but she wasn't sure how to quantify it.

'Has Minky set your things out?'

Draco nodded. 'Yes. I'm wearing black. Don't want to clash with you or Mother.'

Hermione was fiddling with her wrapper. 'I'm not sure I was ready to hear all that.'

'It's true.'

'That doesn't make it easier.'

'No.' He rose as well, much to Crookshanks' disgust, and called Minky to bring hot water so he could shave. 'Unless you think I should grow facial hair. Perhaps fine side whiskers, or a bristling moustache?

'Draco...no.'

'It might look dashing. Like a pirate.' Hermione shook her head and sighed.

'What do you think, Crooks?'

Crookshanks sneezed to show his feelings on that matter and burrowed under the furs, determined to work on putting his fur on exactly the right places on the bed robes.

'I think that's a negative answer, Draco.'

Draco nodded. 'No vision, I'd call it.'

Leesy appeared, bowing low. She heartily approved of Madam's friends and their insistence on observing the traditional forms, and she'd decided to try and convince Madam to wear Madam Dingelbolt's fur lined band under her robes.

'Madam is wearing dark brown robes today? Maroon dress, matching shoes?'

'That sounds fine, Leesy.'

'Fur lined band?'

'Leesy...' Hermione tensed, shaking her head. 'I can't do this right now.'

Leesy began to shur softly, so softly Madam almost couldn't hear it. Hermione hadn't grown up with elves and didn't relax instinctively, as a Pureblood might. She sat down and began to undo her hair from the night braid Leesy had put it in.

Leesy took up the job, fingers flying. 'Madam is well?'

'Yes, Leesy. You?'

Leesy was used to Madam's peculiarities by now, but she'd never get over this particular one. 'Well, Madam.' She called for a maid to bring the hot water for Madam's bath, planning on how she would get her mistress to wear the warm band.

Hermione stripped and sat in the tub, relaxing as the hot water spilt across her shoulders and neck. 'Is it very cold, Leesy?'

'Very cold, Madam. Snowing, and there is being lots of wind.'

Hermione considered. 'Maybe the band would be a good idea, then, for the ride.' She hated how draughty and miserable the carriage could be, juddering them, suspension-less, across the sea and all the way to Hertfordshire.

Leesy's face lit up. 'Thank you, Madam!' She couldn't have been happier that Madam was acting sensibly. Hermione nodded distractedly. 'You're welcome.'

Crookshanks rose from the bed like an orange alligator and came to twine her ankles. 'Oh, Crooks, everything is so complicated.'

Crookshanks purred, wishing he could help. _Shall I bring you something to cheer you up? Perhaps a fat mouse? _His Girl still looked thoughtful, which made Crookshanks snuffle worriedly.

_Perhaps I ought to wee in his shoes, just to be safe. _Deferring this option for further study, he went to find the Man, to see if he could offer some insight.

The two of them watched the carriage rollick into the sky, flying through the air in dignified if rather shaky haste. Crookshanks was being carried in state, lounging on the Man's shoulder.

He tried to convey how strange the whole morning had been, but found the Man wasn't quite as fast on the uptake as Crookshanks had thought. He sighed, put his head down, and slept, deciding he'd worry about it later.

In Hertfordshire, Hermione and the other ladies sat round a table set on a modest dais. Draco was in the back of the room, smiling to make her feel confident, prepared to thoroughly maul (verbally, given the audience) anyone who might upset his wife. They'd been joined this time by Luna Lovegood and Milicent Bulstrode, which brought their number up to fifteen or so.

The room was dingy and cold, and the twenty women in the audience seemed to be politely tolerating them. Hermione had a horrible thought: had they invited her just because Augusta asked them to?

'If we are citizens, then we should have equal rights. This issue is not, at heart, about the right to control our own money or to be able to work if we wish; it's a struggle to be acknowledged as intelligent human beings in our own right. The other things are a symptom of that.'

'We women of Wizarding Britain are hostages to fortune. Most of us are lucky to have husbands who are kind and treat us well. Some of us are not. Even the most well intention contravention of our rights is an abuse. Not because it's meant to be, but because it denies us personhood.'

She went on in this vein a while, wondering if she was making an impression on the women listening to her. As Hermione talked, she found her conversations with Draco playing in her head.

'... decide where you go, whom you might see...no right to privacy...an account at Gringotts? Not anymore.'

Didn't they see how vital this was? How terribly it could go wrong, and at how little provocation? She'd had everything taken from her, everything, and it could happen to them just as quickly. Her status as a war hero hadn't protected her. Nothing had protected her.

'Does anyone here know who Harmonia Singer was?' A smattering of hands shot up. Hermione didn't give herself time to reflect on this; as unusual as this impulse was, she, like Draco, rode it.

'That could be any one of us tomorrow. The law would permit us to be _blinded_ rather than let us be humans. It's not right! All that separates us from poor Harmonia is the good will of our husbands.'

A woman in the audience raised her hand. 'But don't you trust your husband? Mine wouldn't do a thing like that.'

Hermione gripped the edge of the table for a moment. 'Do I think my husband would take one of my eyes? Of course not. Do I think he should have that right, even if he never uses it? No.'

The woman who'd asked the question looked as though she was deep in thought. 'But if a woman is obedient, she wouldn't have anything to worry about.'

Hermione looked her directly in the eye. 'No? Tell Harmonia Singer that.'

The room was silent for a moment and then, as one, the women rose and applauded. Bilquis leant over Hermione's shoulder. 'I think you did it.'

'We did it.'

After the meeting (and a nice luncheon at Augusta's) the Malfoys climbed back in their carriage for the journey home. Draco helped settle his wife under the lap robes. Narcissa wisely feigned sleep so the children could talk.

'You were splendid.'

'I got lucky, was all.'

'Bollocks. I can't wait to watch you convince the Wizengamot of all this.'

'It might not be that easy.' Draco rolled his eyes and smoothed her hair gently. He'd mentally added this afternoon's meeting to his list of reasons.

'Try to be optimistic, darling.'

But of course, Hermione was right.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black**

**A maternity band is a piece of clothing that Pureblood women wear during pregnancy. Picture a wide belt of material, fastening at the back, with a round, padded part at front to keep cold drafts and miasmas from chilling the womb or hurting the baby. It's based on a real garment worn by some Victorian women after childbirth. **

***Voltaire**

_'We have a natural right to make use of our pens as of our tongues, at our peril, risk and hazard_.' _Aloysius Nott, On Discourse, 1801*_

Hermione was only vaguely aware of her own celebrity. Unlike the Malfoys, who were keenly aware that theirs was a household name, Hermione practically never thought of herself as famous.

Why should she? If asked, she would have defined herself as an average person, more or less, perhaps a bit more studious than most. It had taken her years even to get that far-surely others she wasn't that much smarter than her peers, even if they had a puzzling hesitance to show it?

And as to bravery, that was something else she rarely parsed much. In Hermione's experience, doing a thing didn't take as much courage as planning it. Once one was in the moment, things seemed to fit together like blocks, one atop the other until the deed had been done.

So while she reacted to being denounced with a startling degree of sang-froid, the incident which occurred at the door of the Chelmsford Witches' Club was a terrible awakening.

They'd had a most successful meeting (by now their ranks had swelled to almost fifty, and several women at the meeting indicated they'd be willing to help.) and had broken in a most satisfied mood.

The club had assured that no other males would be present, but no one had thought to vet the grounds, which, in hindsight, was a bad idea. As the ladies exited, a figure in a woolly brown cloak sprung forth and threw something from a bucket. A shimmering, foul smelling shower of red, with lumps of darker maroon, arced through the air and hit Hermione directly. She was surrounded by a smell of copper and salt, spoilt even in this cold weather.

Hermione gasped as she was soaked in a foul miasma of the stuff. Beside her, Draco had started forth, wand raised. A number of thoughts went through her head at once, and the main one was that someone would be badly hurt in the ensuing confrontation if she didn't intervene.

She acted with speed which shocked the onlookers, and managed to do the one thing which saved her assailant. She snapped her wrist at the figure in the woolly cloak and said, very clearly 'Levicorpus!'

The woolly cloaked stranger flew upwards just as Draco was reaching him. Draco spun, and Hermione approached very calmly. 'Let him down.'

'No, Draco. We need to call the aurors.'

'Let. Him. Down.'

Hermione could feel his rage crackling in the air, as his magic making her skin tingle. Her own was tingling, but with a cooler anger, tinged with worry that Draco might well maul the idiot to death.

She stepped closer and calmly replaced her wand, and then, in front of nearly one hundred witches of good family, threw both arms about her husband as tightly as she could.

'You promised you'd never hurt me. So don't, all right?'

Draco hugged back, feeling his anger calming slightly at her touch, her smell enveloping him. 'Are you hurt, precious?'

She shook her head. 'No. Just animal blood, I think.'

Draco grimaced, feeling even darker anger fighting his urge to honour the promise he'd made not to hurt or frighten her. Fortunately, the aurors arrived in record time, and collected the man in the brown woolly cloak.

Having narrowly averted disaster, Hermione became conscious that she was covered in cold and stinking blood, the analyses of which proved it to be porcine beyond all doubt.

Bilquis Rocheford, taking one look at the girl's bedraggled condition, swiftly announced the next stop was her townhouse, where she and dear Steerforth would be glad to receive the Malfoys for an early dinner.

Giving her cloak and shoes for evidence to an auror, Hermione climbed into the carriage, wrapped in Draco's own cape. Draco tugged her into his lap, heedless of his mother's surprised, not wholly approving look, and said nothing, face still tense.

'Draco?'

'Hmmm?'

'Are you quite all right?'

'No. I would have rather liked to kill that fellow.'

Hermione wasn't sure he meant it figuratively. 'It was only some blood, Draco. We knew people would feel strongly about all this. This sort of thing is a lightening rod for the unbalanced.'

'He might have hurt you, love.'

'I don't think so. He had time to and didn't.'

'Still...'

'Well, the aurors will sort it all out. Have you been to Bilquis' before?'

'Of course.' Draco wouldn't be distracted. He was deeply glad not to have upset Hermione, but he'd had visions of what he might have done to the man, and as loath as he was to admit it, part of him wished he might have acted on it.

'And the baby?'

'Fine. Probably didn't even wake up.'

Draco snorted. 'Fat chance there. A Malfoy is always alert when there's scandal in the air. Never know your luck when there's a free for all.'

Narcissa started. 'Draco Lucius!'

'Mother?' Draco smiled guilelessly, and Narcissa gave a helpless chuckle. He could be so like his father sometimes, it never failed to amaze her. Not that it was a bad thing, mind; she adored her husband, and their son, and their life. But it could vex a bit as well.

'What would Grandfather say?'

Draco pretended to think. 'He'd threaten to disinherit me and then slip me a galleon when he thought no one was looking.'

'That sounds about right. Hermione, my darling, are you certain you're well?'

'I am. Leesy, would you please go and get some clean things for Master and I?'

The elf, who'd been glued to Hermione, sobbing, bowed and vanished. Narcissa leant over and took Hermione's hand in hers.

'Love, we don't say please to an elf. It's bad for discipline.'

'I'd feel guilty if I didn't.'

Narcissa decided to query this later. 'I thought that was well handled, by the way, children.'

'Thank you. Draco, do you think Blaise will be there?'

'Doubt it. He goes to visit his grandparents in Bologna during the summer.'

Hermione nodded. She didn't know how to delicately ask the next part. 'And you don't think Mr. Rochefort will be a problem?'

'My word, no. He's a hundred and ten. Sort of a larger, balder version of Crookshanks, though I daresay he doesn't eat as many mice.'

'_Draco_!'

'Mother?'

'I've half a mind to Floo Father and tell him how irreverent you're being.'

Draco dropped his mouth to Hermione's ear and stage whispered. 'I think Mother wants Father to start practicing for when the baby's born.'

Narcissa looked ready to say something and starting laughing instead, harder than Hermione had ever seen her. Hermione looked at her husband's blandly smirking face and joined in helplessly as well, so that when the carriage touched down, all three were nearly convulsed with mirth.

Bilquis swept out to greet them, elegantly attired as always, followed by a number of small dogs. 'Welcome, welcome. I've asked my maid to help you bathe, Hermione, and your Leesy is here with clean clothes. Draco, you may use Blaise's shower, do you remember where it is?'

Half an hour later, both of them clean and attired in warm clothing, the Malfoys waited for everyone else to assemble. A strange sound caused them to turn round, in time to see a very elderly man, being pushed along in an old fashioned wheelchair by an elf.

'Bilquis, have you seen my top hat?'

'No, darling. What do you need it for?'

Steerforth appeared not to hear. 'Are these people from the Ministry? I wish to register a complaint.'

'No, love. They're friends of mine, remember?'

Draco rose and extended a hand. 'Draco Malfoy, sir. Blaise's friend?'

'Ah, yes, of course. And this is your wife, is that right?'

'Yes, sir.' Hermione also stood and made her way over to shake the old man's hands. He smiled rhumily up at her. 'You remind me of someone, my dear. Have we met? Do I know your father?'

'I shouldn't think so, sir.'

His brain, fogged with age, surged with electricity as his neurons, once as well oiled as ball bearings, strained tiredly to place where this girl had been that he'd known about. Suddenly his face lit up. 'You're the writer, is that right?'

'I, ah, suppose it is, at that.'

The old man appeared not to notice. 'Niobe, it's cold in here. Why don't we have Coggy...' His head fell forward, and the elf bowed and excused them both. Hermione raised an eyebrow and Draco raised one back, meaning to explain later.

Bilquis watched the encounter play out with something like sorrow on her face. 'He's having a bad day. I'm sorry.'

Hermione smiled. 'Not at all.'

'You reminded him of his first wife.' Bilquis handed out steaming cups of tea. 'Most unusual. He almost never says her name.'

Hermione didn't know what to say. She added some lemon to her tea and stirred. Draco had no such compunction. 'Your husband has quite a library, isn't that right? He was a medi-wizard.'

'He does, and was. Why do you ask?'

Draco sipped some tea. 'Hermione, this mystery thing is really yours. Would you want to explain?'

She did. Bilquis was intrigued. 'Do you think the library here might have some clues?'

'The one at Grimmauld place did, but someone tore up the book. Perhaps in a family with less of a stake in things, the book would be intact.'

Bilquis nodded. 'In return, may I ask a favour?'

'Of course, anything.'

'I will be frank: I am more nurse than wife to my husband. It can be lonely. I would greatly appreciate a visit from time to time.'

'We'd be glad to.' Hermione noticed there was a bit of orange fur on the cuff of her robes, and mentally smiled a bit. Dear grumpy Crookshanks.

'And you're always welcome to come and see us.' He felt himself being sucked into yet another hen party. But he liked Bilquis very much, and thought that perhaps it would help Hermione to have some friends, even if they were older.

Sometimes it rather gnawed at him, that. He had no use for Potter, but he wondered if he could tolerate a visit from him and the She-Weasel. But Potter was no ancient, senile invalid. He was virile, young, strong. He might actually be a threat (as much as Draco's human mind snorted at the idea, the veela was insistent.)

But might it raise Hermione's mood? She was happy enough these days, but she'd still showed no visible excitement about her pregnancy, and that worried him. She talked about the whole thing in neutral tones, as though it were something happening to another person, something that happened to involve her body.

Perhaps a younger woman would help her feel better about it, show some enthusiasm. He had no doubts she would treat a child well, give it her attention and affection, teach it everything she knew, but he wanted more than that. He wanted her to be delirious with love for it, even as he was.

Draco was quite right. Hermione felt no especial excitement about the idea of a baby. She liked children well enough, but she'd never been one of those girls who went starry eyed at the prospect of motherhood.

But she felt little doubt she would do right by it, all the same. It would be cared for, and, like it's father, she would make peace with it. Him? Her? She hadn't even a preference, really. Whichever would be fine by Hermione.

Narcissa was quite fine one moment. The next her head had begun a low, nauseous throb which made her clench her teeth. 'Bilquis, I do hate to be rude, but my head is bothering me. Would you mind terribly if I left a bit early?'

'Of course not, Narcissa. Draco and Hermione can simply use our carriage to get home.'

They exchanged good byes and Bilquis rose. 'Hermione, may I have a word?'

Hermione's eyes flitted to Draco, who smiled encouragingly. 'Bilquis, may I go and have a look at that gallery of family portraits? I believe Steerforth and I have some common ancestors I rarely get to speak to.'

'Of course. If I'm not mistaken, Virgilia Malfoy herself is there.'

'Yes, through her sister Fulvia Crabbe Wilkes, I think, who's second marriage was to a Rochefort. Virgilia lived with them after her own husband died.'

Hermione shook her head. How did they manage to keep all this straight? She followed Bilquis to a set of rooms further into the house, where they sat. 'Now, how are you really feeling?'

Hermione laughed softly. No mincing words here. 'Well enough. We're lucky it wasn't something worse, I think.'

'Exactly. And your pregnancy?'

Hermione looked down. 'Fine.'

'You aren't excited?'

'No.'

'Understandable. I don't know how you do it.'

Hermione looked out the window, on the snow dusted landscape. 'What choice remains to me? It was this or throwing myself from the battlements.'

Bilquis nodded slowly. 'You know, people speak ill of me because my husbands are so old. Blaise's father wasn't. He was younger than I, actually. Giancarlo was the love of my life.'

Hermione wondered what this had to do with anything. Bilquis' face was smooth. 'He was trampled by a dragon. I was alone for a year, but Blaise needed a father, and...my second husband proposed. He was eighty six, and wanted company, I think. And I was not young-thirty five-and not rich enough to make up for my deficiencies.'

'I tell you this, my dear, because sometimes life takes us to place we might not have chosen ourselves.'

Hermione understood. 'It's the way we deal with things.'

'Quite. And things have a way of working out. My second husband was childless, and he adored Blaise. And when he died, I married his friend for much the same reason.'

Hermione sighed. 'I feel so guilty for not wanting this more. The pregnancy, I mean.'

'Feeling resentment about something that was forced on you is natural. And you've channelled it into something constructive.'

'Draco didn't-'

'No, no, not like that. I mean, you'd haven chosen differently, and it's normal to grieve that, I'd say.'

Hermione looked down at her stomach, still smooth and flat. 'The veela thing has been a challenge.'

'I'd imagine. How do your parents feel about it?'

Hermione swallowed. 'Upset, at first. But they understand that it is what it is.'

Bilquis felt a moment of pity for the muggles, who were doubtlessly confused by the sudden seismic change in their daughter's life. She studied the girl, who was very pale, almost ill looking.

'Interesting, that you've chosen this mystery to immerse yourself in. Any particular reason?'

'Something to do. It gets lonely out there.'

'I'm sure it does. I'd imagine Draco would know a thing or two about that.'

'Loneliness?'

'He's the only one of his kind that he knows.'

Hermione looked grim. 'So I am.'

'Yes, you are.' Bilquis wouldn't insult the girl by making the parrelel explicit, and suggesting she pursue this line of thought. Instead, she just looked at her levelly, and Hermione looked back, perhaps at peace with things.

Or perhaps not, or maybe it shifted. Hard to say. Grief, thought Bilquis, is a paper house on sand-it moves, stills, and moves again according to no pattern that could be discerned.

Hermione rose after a moment. 'Would you mind showing me the portraits?'

'I hope I have not offended you.'

'Not at all. But I feel as though I should meet Virgilia face to face, after all this time criticising her life's work.'

Bilquis led the way. Draco was deep in conversation with a man who bore the unmistakable stamp of Black ancestry. '...routed the lot of them.'

'Really?'

'Rather. Good plunder, boy, that day.' The man fell silent at the approach of the women.

'Hello, Bilquis.'

'Hello, Diogenes. How are you?'

'Well, well.'

Virgilia was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she'd gone to one of her many portraits. The two Malfoys borrowed the Rochefort coach to ride home in. Draco noticed that Hermione seemed thoughtful and slid his hand into hers as gently as possible. 'Love?'

'Draco?'

'Something wrong?'

'I've a lot on my mind, is all.'

'Oh.' He probed no further. Draco was learning.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Sorry it took so long, guys. Real life has this absurd notion I should pay attention to it.**

**NB: I'm assuming that the rules about muggles and magical objects are as follows:**

**If it's going to attract attention or be unsafe, it's forbidden. If it's not likely to be noticed and can't reasonably cause harm, it's probably all right.**

**So a floating tea pot that poured the tea independently would be forbidden , but a tea pot charmed to keep tea warm and nothing else would be fine, as it would attract no notice even on close inspection.**

'So you see' said Lucius, as he took let the elf put a few more whelks on his plate 'it was simply some random maniac.'

Draco and Hermione both nodded. 'Good to know, Father.'

'Poor man.' Hermione ate a whelk of her own and frowned thoughtfully, moved with pity at the man's plight. The Malfoys got quiet and looked at her in surprise. The elves, too, were surprised, and added this to their growing list of things about Madam which called for gentle elven correction.

'Darling, he threw pig's blood on you.'

She looked wry. 'I hadn't noticed, Draco.'

'Aren't you angry?'

Hermione shrugged and ate a little of her supper. 'I didn't like it, but one expects these things when one writes something people feel strongly about.'

'Hmph. Father, Hermione is being inappropriately cheerful about something awful that happened.'

'No one likes a carry tale, Draco. Hermione, dear, do try not to be so upbeat and forgiving, would you?'

She shook her head. 'I can't do vengeful. It isn't me.'

'Could you try sulky petulance? For me, darling?' Draco looked pleading and Hermione had to turn her eyes elsewhere, lest she laugh with a mouthful of fish stew.

'I suppose I could have hysterics later. Perhaps even take to bed for a week or so.'

'No! You'll want to do runes or something else virtuous and terribly dull.' Draco gave his mother a wink, and Narcissa disguised an unladylike snort as a cough. 'Honestly, all of you.'

'We could do Arithmancy problems or something.'

'That sounds diverting, love.' Lucius gave his only son and heir a distinctly predatory look. 'I seem to recall someone getting an E on his last exam. Would you happen to remember the details, Draco?'

'No, Father. I'm too busy remembering who it was that sneaked out of bed-in direct defiance of the medi-wizard, incidentally-and walked round the ramparts a few months ago.'

Hermione would never have believed all this had she not heard it. She covered her mouth and tried to restrain her giggles. A darted look at Narcissa told her that the woman was doing exactly the same.

Lucius pretended not to hear. 'Narcissa, it seems to me as we used to have an obedient child. Do you recall? Wherever has he gone, I wonder? I rather liked that one.'

'Now, darling, you liked to tease your father, as I remember it.'

'Hmph. It was wholly different in those days.'

Draco grinned and gave Hermione a poke with his foot under the table. She poked back and then said, very sweetly and innocently 'Father, perhaps you'd like to tell a story to illustrate what you mean?'

Both parents laughed. 'Well done, love.'

Draco was looking outraged. 'Oh, oh, I see how it is. I shall owl your parents directly and ask them for stories about you.'

'There aren't many, I was a very obedient child by muggle lights.'

'I find that hard to believe.' Draco gave her a friendly smirk and Hermione pretended not to see.

'Hmm, a good story. Have I ever told you about Draco's third birthday?'

Draco groaned. 'Father, be kind. I shan't ever tease you again.'

'He was adorable.'

'Or ste-borrow your cologne.'

'It was early June, and we had just...'

Draco rather inadvertently got his own the next morning. He was woken up by Hermione's voice, raised in protest. Awake instantly, he came out the bedclothes, wand at the ready, in time to see Hermione, attempting to pry herself free of a flailing, sobbing coat of elves.

'Draco, help!'

His heartbeat slowing, Draco stretched lazily for effect. 'Morning, darling.'

'Draco!'

'What seems to be the problem?'

'The elves won't let me up!'

Draco nodded thoughtfully. 'And there's rather a lot of them, isn't there?' He laid back against the pillow and studied the dancers on the ceiling. 'Chilly, isn't it? Shall definitely wear my fur lined robes this morning.'

'_Draco_!'

'Oh, love, are the elves still there? How strange.' He let her suffer another moment and then raised himself up to address Leesy. 'What is this all about, Leesy?'

'We is failing Madam! We is letting bad man throw pig on her!'

'Blood, Leesy, just the blood.'

'Ohhh! Poor Madam!' The elves wailed as one and clung tighter, and Hermione fell backwards with an 'oof!' As it happened, Crookshanks had decided to come in for his morning praise and belly rub, and the sight of so many squeaking, flailing limbs was too much for his prey instincts.

To Draco's amusement, an orange blur flew through the air and landed directly on Minky, grasping the back of his tea towel in sharp little teeth and tugging. The elf yelped indignantly and tried to throw the cat off, causing Crookshanks to grasp tighter.

'No, nasty cat! Leave Minky alone!'

The others clung undeterred. 'Madam is resting today!'

'I feel fine! It washed off!'

'Madam is getting attacked! Bad elves!'

'It was no one's fault! Just let go and we'll discuss it!'

'OH POOR MADAM! BAD ELVES!' Draco wasn't sure whether the elves could howl in unison because they had some sort of hive mind or because they'd practiced, but it was actually rather impressive.

'No, nasty cat! Let go of MInky's towel!' The cat and elf continued the pitched battle between them, neither gaining advantage. The Malfoys, finally roused from their room by the commotion, came in, dressed in nightclothes.

'Darlings, what-?'

'ELVES NEVER FAIL MADAM AGAIN!'

'No, nasty cat! Don't bite Minky's ear!'

'Malfoy, if you don't stop laughing, you'll never see me nak-oh!'

It was all too much. Lucius and Narcissa took a single look and collapsed laughing, clinging to one another for support. Draco couldn't keep it in any more, and joined them. Finally, Hermione did too, after spelling Crookshanks free of poor Minky.

The four of them laughed a long time, until Narcissa wiped her streaming eyes and said 'Now, darlings, what was that all about?'

'The elves want me to stay in bed, Mother.'

'Oh? Are you unwell?'

'Not at all. I'd like to start on Snape's papers today, and so I wanted to get ready.'

'Of course. Leesy, you object?'

'Madam is having stressful day, Mistress. Is needing rest for a while. Not good for baby.'

'Mmm. Draco, how do you feel?'

Draco sat up, still snorting with laughter. 'Mother, if Hermione wishes to sort papers, I'll help her.'

'I was rather thinking' Narcissa looked as though she was stepping carefully 'that we should go to Diagon Alley. Partly to show people that we are not afraid, and partly because we need some things.'

Draco could tell they were waiting for his reaction. He inhaled. 'May Hermione and I have a moment?'

The Malfoys went to get dressed, and Draco cupped his wife's face. 'Precious, would you like to go?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I hate to shop, but it might be a good idea to show people we won't be bullied.'

Draco sighed. 'You are quite the strangest woman I know.' He kissed her cheeks. 'But it would make Mother happy, and I think they'd help us sort when we got back.'

And so that's what they did. All rugged up, ignoring the way the elves were sulking, they embarked for the trip to London. 'We really should get a Floo put in.'

'Oh, I don't know, it's sort of quaint, travelling like this. And it keeps annoying people at bay.'

'What about the annoying people one lives with?' Lucius gave his son a companionable poke on the arm as he said it, to let him know he was playing.

'Father, the elves try their hardest. And technically, they're beings.'

Diagon Alley was crowded, this close to Christmas. The four left the carriage near the Ministry and walked toward the shops. A few people stared and pointed, but mostly they were left alone.

Narcissa had made a list, and she promptly set out ticking things off of it. They were to get some socks and underwear for the gentlemen, presents for Hermione's parents, more quills, and holiday ink for writing letters.

Hermione bent and murmured something in Narcissa's ear, and the woman nodded. 'Yes, of course. We'll simply have to leave the gentlemen somewhere.'

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Hermione smiled enigmatically. 'Christmas is coming, Draco.'

'And you've still not told me what you'd like.'

'I did, you just didn't like what I told you.'

Draco looked grumpy. 'Hermione's asked me for bedroom slippers and new quills.'

Lucius raised an eyebrow. 'Truly?'

'I'm a very practical person, is all.'

Lucius nodded and they went to the first place on the list. Socks and underclothes were easily obtained, as were quills, and special ink. 'What is holiday ink?'

'It changes colour. Looks very elegant on formal stationary.'

Narcissa murmured to Lucius, and he nodded gravely. 'Draco, the ladies are going to pick things out for the both of us, so we'll wait nearby, all right?'

Draco nodded. He snapped his fingers and Leesy, not at all bothered by the cold, appeared. 'Go with them and protect them, Leesy.'

The ladies chose a store catering to those who knit and sew, while the men took up places on benches near enough to hear should there be a problem. Lucius was glad that Draco had allowed Hermione out of his site for even five minutes, and attempted to distract him by asking questions.

'What did you want to get Hermione, Draco?'

'Don't know.'

'And you say she doesn't care for jewellery?'

Draco huffed. 'Swears up and down she doesn't. Leesy asks her to wear some of the things we found from time to time, but I think she does it to please the elf.'

'How very odd.' Lucius turned his head to look at his child, feeling enormous love for the boy, the sort that parents don't tell anyone about, wanting to hoard it. He sighed, tugging his cloak tighter.

'You know, I was far from pleased with all this initially. But the longer it goes, the more I think things fell right in the end. Mostly right.'

'Mostly?'

'Mostly. Old habits die slowly, Draco.'

Draco nodded. 'Yes.' He thought of Hermione's anguish whenever the Weasel came up, and knew precisely what Father meant. 'I think, now, that I wouldn't have been as happy with Pansy.'

'No. And Hermione is a deeply kind girl.'

'Father?'

'Hmm?'

'Do you suppose Hermione will ever love me back?' Draco said it casually, almost indifferently, like he was talking about the weather. Lucius' stomach cramped with sadness, wishing he could tell his son that yes, of course she would.

'I don't know, love.' It struck him how far they were from where they'd been even a year earlier. Draco looked into some inner distance.

'All I can do is make it easy for her to. Love me, I mean, and then maybe it'll come.'

'You're taking a very good stance with this.'

Draco shrugged. 'Trying to make her didn't help.'

Lucius nodded. 'No, but time dulls pain, I find. Perhaps it's dulled hers a bit.'

'She still cares about Weasley.'

'Oh? Did Hermione tell you that?'

'She didn't have to. She can't bear to talk about him.'

'No?'

Draco shook his head, face freckled with the falling snow. 'I've not asked very much. And the baby will help things.' He thought about their having a baby, and playing with it, and snow witches, and broom rides in the softly falling clouds of white.

Or, thought Lucius, it willmake it worse. He sometimes wondered whether Hermione would be fine until the baby came, at which point she would crack apart entirely. It worried him.

The ladies exited the shop, parcel wrapped in twine. Hermione handed it to the elf and gave Draco a smile. 'No, you don't. You'll want to peek.'

'As though I would!'

'Father?'

'Hermione, dear, if he's my son-and he is-then he'd certainly try to peek. It's a Malfoy trait.'

Narcissa huffed. 'As though the Blacks never did? Pooh.'

'I was simply too polite to say that, Cissy.'

'Hmph.' But she laughed, and they continued on their way. The subject of Hermione's parents came up, and what to get them for the holiday.

'What do they like, love?'

'Don't ask Hermione, Father. She'll want to give them something utterly dull, like a vase.'

'They're practical people, too. They might like a nice fruit basket.'

'Fruit?' All three Malfoys looked confused, and Hermione explained the whole idea, twice.

'Oh. That's...unusual. How about a painting?'

'Or some charmed plant trays? Dad likes to garden.'

'Plant trays? See what I mean, Father?'

'What about your mother, love?'

Hermione considered. 'Mum likes to cook. Maybe some charmed pots and pans? Or a teapot?'

Narcissa thought that sounded ghastly. 'Why don't we just hire a servant for them?'

Hermione shook her head. 'They wouldn't like that. And it would attract notice.'

The Malfoys decided to give this some thought, stepping up into the carriage. It juddered into the sky, and Hermione snuggled a bit closer to Draco, relaxing a bit into his heat.

'Well, shall we sort some papers, Draco?'

'Love' he sighed 'couldn't we just relax a bit? Play a game?' He moved closer and started to gently massage her neck. 'Or perhaps we could study that scroll a bit more?' He'd told her about the scroll he'd found, and she'd been suitably impressed and pleased.

Hermione sat up and stripped off her outer clothes by way of answer. She smelt, he thought, like cold air and lavender and soap. And something else, sort of animal like underneath it all.

Draco shucked his own outerwear, helping to guide down her drawers and stripped the rest of the way, tugging her chemise up and gently patting her legs to get her to splay for him.

Hermione did him one better, resting her calves on his shoulders. Draco went with it, easing himself in and finding her sort of sticky-damp on the inside. He liked it. It made it easier to move, and it seemed to feel better for his darling, too.

He finished and then collapsed on her, breathing hard. Hermione was flushed, smiling a bit. She looked glorious. He kissed her neck and collarbones, and all the way down her belly.

'This is nice, love. Something happen?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Don't know. Just felt good, I suppose.' She stretched, a fine layer of perspiration added to her other smells, and Draco nuzzled closer, gently rubbing her belly before he scourgified them clean.

'Well, what can I do to help this happen more often?'

Hermione was still smiling. 'I don't know. We just had a nice day. Did you think?'

'I did.'

Hermione had had a good day, but more than that, she'd had a normal day. They'd woken and gone about something normal and routine, Christmas shopping and spending time as a family.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt as though the veela thing did not rule her life intractable as a stone idol. It was something to think about, definitely, but it had ceased, for a few hours, to be the sun round which her world revolved.

And the next night was her parents' night to come. Her life was pleasant, for the moment, and that was enough for her. She stripped her chemise off completely and laid down, pulling the furs over them both.

'Love?'

'Draco?'

'Suppose we should invite the Weasley woman and the She-Weasel-and only them-to tea sometime? If you'd like to talk about babies or something.'

And Hermione was so happy that they ended up going again.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black,**

**I know, I know, it's late. Mea culpa.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**Recently, Major Richard 'Dick' Winters, of 'Band of Brothers' fame, passed away at age 93. This chapter is dedicated, with enormous gratitude, to him.**

Hermione smiled and tugged her shawl tighter, bent over the letter she was writing.

_'Dear Molly and Ginny,_

_I enjoyed your visit yesterday very much. Please give me affection to everyone at the Burrow, and know that you're welcome any time. Enclosed is a baby cap for Bill and Fleur's soon to be new arrival._

_Hermione._

_PS-Happy Christmas!'_

It had been a really good visit, she thought. They'd kept things light, and at the end, Molly had hugged her gently. 'You'll always be a part of our family.' It had helped to hear that, but it had hurt as well.

She set down her quill and called for an elf to come and seal the letter. The air smelt like spiced wine and pudding-it was Christmas Eve, and the house was tingling with excitement.

Draco poked his head through the door. 'Hello, love.'

'Hello.' She stood and walked toward him. He noticed with pride the almost imperceptible bump at her stomach, only visible because she was wearing just a dress, with no robes over.

'Writing letters?'

'Thanking Molly and Ginny for coming.'

'And you had a good time? They were nice to you?'

'Draco, it's the Weasleys. Of course they were.'

He wasn't so sure, but Draco also wasn't going to risk the relative domestic felicity they'd been enjoying in order to argue about such tiresome, dead common people. He knelt down and stroked her belly instead. 'Hello, my darling. It's almost Christmas. Are you very excited?' He rubbed lightly at the place where his child floated in the wet darkness of Hermione's belly.

'I finished Father's lap robe this morning. I've had to shoo Crooks off twice, so I'll venture it was a success as far as that end of things.'

Draco snorted. 'Precisely so. I swear, Father and that cat cabal against me.'

'I thought that was Mother and I.'

'It is that, too. Everyone picks on me, you know. It's dreadful.' Draco pulled a tragic face, and Hermione rolled her eyes and decided to adjust his attitude by flicking him lightly on the ear.

Draco gasped, outraged, and caught her hand for kisses. 'Ow! You've wounded me!'

'You had a pixie on you, I was just getting it off.'

'A pixie? In winter?'

'He was wearing a tiny little coat and hat.'

'I see. Perhaps I ought to make sure there aren't any on you, then. For the baby's sake.' He picked her up and carried her into the bedchamber, laying her on the bed and climbing up.

Hermione wondered what Draco was up to, until he bent over her and took her head lightly in her hands, turning it this way and that. 'Oh, there's one' he said, and kissed the spot.

'And another.' He kissed lower. Things would probably have got interesting had an elf not popped in, looking apologetic. 'Master and Madam, dinner is being served.'

Draco sighed. 'Can't you see my wife has an acute pixie infestation, elf?'

Hermione gasped. 'Draco! Thank you, Linky, we'll be right down.' She gave Draco a poke in the ribs, which prompted him, sighing regretfully, to climb off.

Donning her robes, Hermione walked down with Draco, chatting about their plans for the holidays.

'...And I've made Eudamia a pair of warm socks. She says her feet are always cold. Do you think that house needs the heating charms reworked?'

'I'll ask, love. Perhaps she's forgot to get it done lately.'

Lucius and Narcissa were waiting for them, soup course on the table. 'There you are.'

Lucius took in the dishevelled look of both children generally and raised an eyebrow at his son.

'We were working on correspondence' said Draco, as he pushed Hermione's chair back in. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, of course you were.'

'Father!'

'Draco?'

Hermione ignored it and turned to Narcissa. 'I was thinking duck for this evening , and then the lamb tomorrow on Christmas itself?'

'I agree. I've had the elves get my grandmother's recipe for trifle, which is our traditional Christmas dessert.'

'My Dad's making some of his quaking pudding, too, and bringing some other things for tonight. I thought everyone might like to try some muggle sweets, so they've got some for everyone to taste.'

Everyone nodded, and the subjected drifted to other things. That night, in bed, Lucius and Narcissa were resting quietly, Narcissa working on a number puzzle and Lucius reading the paper, grumbling about the contents.

'So' he said after a few moments 'the muggles.'

'The muggles.'

'It shan't be so bad.'

Narcissa nodded. 'Five. Yes, they're probably perfectly nice.'

'They raised a very sweet child.'

'Do you suppose they're as repressed as she is?'

'Oh, probably. Did you know the Ministry wants to levy a 4% tax on imported unicorn hair?'

'Shan't go through.'

'I agree. Oh, well, that's what one gets when one permits idiots like Stagthorpe to get beyond their competence.'

'Mmm. Do you think we shall have to choke down much of the muggle food?'

'We can order the elves to drop it if it's bad enough.'

'Quite. If you're through with that article, love...'

Lucius threw aside the rest of the paper. 'I've already read the comics anyhow.'

The Granger were quite used to the elves by now. Dressed well, and holding an overnight bag, they waited by the fireplace, a casserole dish of pudding in one hand and bags of sweets from Asda in the other.

'Do you suppose the parents will be as plummy as he is?'

'He got it from somewhere, Cyril.'

'Yes, of course. But I mean, do you suppose they'll all be doing it at us? That sort of Victorian Masterpiece Theatre thing?'

'The other boy's parents didn't.'

'They also don't own a bloody castle.'

'That's true.' Annemarie gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. 'We'll have fun.'

'She's a good girl, Anne, isn't she?'

'Always.'

The elf appeared. 'Master, Mistress is being ready?'

Hermione grinned as her parents appeared in the hall. 'Mum! Dad!' An elf appeared to take the casserole dish to the kitchens, where Lirry was ranting about the impropriety of human made food.

'Hello, darling. You looked lovely.' She did, too, in a dark green velvet, a silver net in her hair.

'You, too, Mum. You brought everything. And it isn't even sugar-free!'

'It is a special occasion. And we also brought some dental supplies, so it balances.' Dad set down the first Asda bag and held out the second, which was full of dental floss and toothpaste.

Draco came in and embraced both his in-laws, who could never quite get used to it. He took a step back and said 'Please, come and sit down. My parents are eager to meet you.'

The Malfoys were, indeed, quite curious, and as plummy as Cyril had suspected they would be. 'Delighted' drawled the man from nearly six inches above Cyril's head, and then offered him some brandy.

The woman was stunningly beautiful. She embraced them both and then sat to speak with Annemarie, looking like Grace Kelly in those weird robes magical people wore, giving the occasional order to one of the damned creepy elves that floated in from time to time.

'I take it you're both in the medical field, is that right?'

'Rather' said Cyril, who'd put himself through University and wouldn't be intimidated by some toff with a wand ' Dentists. We fix teeth.'

The man looked politely confused. 'I wonder if you'd mind explaining.'

'Explaining?'

Hermione, who'd heard the tail end of the conversation, said 'Wizards don't have dentists, Dad. They use potions to regrow teeth if needed, and that's about it.'

Cyril looked amazed. 'Truly?'

'That's right. You mean muggles don't?' Lucius cocked his head, trying to imagine exactly what else one would do. He'd been picturing both parents as sort of inferior medi-wizards.

'Not at all. We don't have the technology. What we do, mainly, is...'

Narcissa was similarly shocked. 'You didn't know about the blood?'

Annemarie shook her head. 'No, I didn't.' Draco came and sat next to his wife, just as his mother-in-law turned and said 'Hermione Jane, what's this about pig's blood?'

The room had got very quiet. Hermione finished her sip of pumpkin juice and said 'It slipped my mind, Mum, the last time we talked.'

'How does a thing like that slip one's mind?'

Draco, who was getting an indecent amount of pleasure out of this whole exchange, said 'Mother Granger, it's partly my fault. I've been insisting Hermione rest, she has less time to write letters and things.'

'Not to mention' said Lucius 'Hermione took the whole thing with remarkable aplomb. Hardly a word about it.'

'It was just some random maniac who didn't like what I had to say.'

Both Grangers relaxed fractionally. 'Well, if you're sure that's all it was.'

Draco leant into his wife's ear. 'Not so funny when it's you, is it?'

Hermione could've made a clever retort, but she decided the simplest course was best, and simply poked his ribs lightly and drank some more juice.

Dinner was splendid. 'My goodness, your cook is very talented.'

'It is. Shall we have your pudding now?'

The Malfoys were hesitant to eat food cooked by a muggle. They weren't dirty or stupid, as one would assume of a muggle, but still. The elves, Lirry vociferously protesting in the kitchens, put the stuff in bowls and brought it out to the family.

'Thank you. Has Buttons left you alone lately, Dad?' Buttons was the neighbour cat who so loved Cyril.

'Not at all. Ruddy thing's always creeping in, trying to get in my lap. Ate part of a fish paste sandwich I'd made myself just last week.'

'He likes you.'

'He's a menace. And he's always making bedroom eyes at my garden, as well.'

'It's covered in snow.'

'I can tell.' Annemarie rolled her eyes and gave her daughter a fond smile. 'Your father's becoming a grumpy old man, could you tell?'

'Mum! He isn't either.'

'Oh, yes, he is.' Cyril looked satisfied and ate some pudding, pleased at the idea of becoming a pensioner who chased neighbourhood kids out of his flowers and attended all the town meeting so he could rail at the council.

Lucius found himself rather liking the fellow, really, for all he was dreadfully unpolished. He seemed honest, and at least he wasn't tiresome. His grandchild could do worse for grandparents than these muggles.

Narcissa smiled. 'Are you as excited about the baby as we are?'

Annemarie nodded, not without a degree of sadness. She was glad these were nice people, good people, but to have her daughter married and pregnant at nineteen wasn't what she would have chosen. Granted, the young man seemed to adore Hermione, but the whole thing still left a faintly bitter taste in Annemarie's mouth.

Narcissa saw the look in the woman's eyes and wisely decided this was something for later. 'Tell me, have you enjoyed the things we sent?'

Everything was still packed in Hermione's room. 'Yes, it was very generous of you.'

Narcissa motioned for the elf to pour a bit more wine for everyone but Hermione. 'I hope everything we chose suits your decor.'

'Yes, quite.'

Cyril had asked Lucius to explain the workings of the Ministry to him. He nodded thoughtfully as the man elucidated on the way the government of Wizarding Britain worked.

'...So I've quite decided to run that ginger tom of Hermione's.'

'Attached himself to you, has he?'

'Oh yes.'

'He did me, too. Nice old fellow, isn't he?'

'Very, though he knows his own mind.'

Draco snorted. 'Father Granger, that cat is a monster. He sleeps atop my head every night like a hat.'

'Does he?'

Hermione giggled and nodded. 'He loves you, Draco.'

'Bah. He wants my place in bed, is all.'

'He's a good boy.'

'Hmmph. Ginger coloured nuisance, more like.' Everyone laughed, and rose from their pudding to take after dinner coffee and sweets in the parlour.

'Quite a place. Early Norman?'

'Yes, precisely. A relative of my wife's.'

The elves brought out the sweets, which had been carefully laid out on serving platters. Hermione almost laughed to see the scrupulous care which had been lavished on common sweets a person could buy on any High Street. But didn't, of course, because it would have been terribly rude and hurtful to do so.

The Malfoys carefully took a piece of each kind and sampled them, not quite sure of what to expect. 'My word, that's interesting' said Narcissa, as she nibbled a Cadbury Fruit and Nut bar.

Lucius nodded, quite busy with some rhubarb sweets. They had a sort of gummy texture that had nothing on actual rhubarb and cream, but he wasn't complaining. He wondered how he might buy himself a bag without anyone knowing or damaging his dignity by having to interact with an actual muggle.

Draco grinned at Hermione and contentedly munched some toffee, which was more or less similar to the wizarding sort. He wasn't especially keen on sweets generally, but he was pleased to have been able to do this muggle thing with his wife.

After the sweets had been sampled and coffee declined, the ladies trooped upstairs for a bit of girl talk and Lucius excused himself to go and take some of potions for his heart.

'May I talk to you, son?'

Draco rose and gestured for Cyril to proceed him out the door which opened onto the battlements. 'Of course. Please, join me.' It was clear and cold, and a thousand metres below them, the sea whooshed as often as breathing, and as gently.

The man stood beside him silently. 'What are you giving my daughter for Christmas, if you don't mind my asking?'

'Good question. She says all she wants is new quills and some bedroom slippers.'

'I've something here, if you're interested.' He reached into his pocket and came up with a box. 'It was my Mum's. Hermione was very close to grandmother.'

Draco carefully opened the box. It was a locket, just gold with a bit of enamelling. Nothing special, really. Cyril was looking at it, too. 'It's been in the family for over a hundred years. There's a picture of my Dad in his uniform in it.'

Draco thumbed the catch. A rakish looking bloke in some sort of military garb looked back at him, handsome despite the eye patch he wore.

'He lost that eye on D Day, storming Sword beach. Hard bloke, my Dad.'

Draco only understood a few words in the sentence, but he understood what it was to love one's father and be proud of his achievements. 'They tried to switch him to desk duty, but he kept applying to go back into the field, so they finally made him an attendant in a field hospital.'

'And after the war?'

'He was killed ten days before the surrender.' Cyril's voice was calm, level. 'It's important to me, this picture. It's the last one ever taken of him.'

'I'd be honoured to give it, then.'

Cyril handed over the box the locket went in. 'This whole thing was as much a shock to you as it was to us?'

'Yes.'

'Seems like the two of you have done a good job, making things work.'

Draco looked into the ocean. 'Hermione is far more patient with me than I deserve.'

'Women-the good ones-are like that. Annemarie and I were just a little older than you when we got married.'

'That's what my father says.'

'You ever want to see how the other half lives, you're always welcome with us in Darlington.'

'Thank you. Is it true Hermione was a very obedient child? She refuses to admit there are any stories about things she did when she was small.'

Cyril chuckled. 'There's a few, lad. This one time, when she was about three or four, we'd invited the priest over for dinner and...'

**A/N: Yes, probably an army isn't going to want the one eyed guy in the field. I was reading an article about a soldier who lost an eye in similar circumstances during the Second World War and was allowed to remain in the field, so this is sort of a tribute.**


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